The Quaffle and the Quill
by the green lama
Summary: During apparition lessons in 7th year, Oliver Wood catches the eye of a Ravenclaw girl... This is a series of episodes from the life of an ordinary couple in extraordinary times, leading up to and including the Battle of Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As I tried to say in the very brief summary, this is my version of the role played by everyone's favourite quidditch captain in the events of _The Deathly Hallows,_ and the years preceding it. Naturally, he didn't go though those years alone (OC: proceed with caution). But this isn't just an (admittedly low key) romance; it's also my chance to play around with the characters closest to my heart, and to imagine the lives of those who were on the margins of the books (and films) we all know and love. I should probably point out that most of these characters, places and events are the property of JKR, not me - and this chapter includes two direct quotations from the apparition lessons in _The Half-Blood Prince_, which should be pretty easy to spot. I really, really hope you enjoy this, and any reviews that you're feeling generous enough to leave me will be greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 1**

_October 1993, Hogwarts_

"Destination, determination, deliberation."

Hardly listening, Oliver Wood allowed his gaze to drift over the gathered assortment of sixth and seventh years lined up neatly on the lawns. It was a clear but breezy Saturday morning, and those furthest from the Ministry instructor were straining to hear his directions.

He was one of only two Gryffindor seventh years present: the others had either passed their test last year, or were too ashamed to advertise their failure by turning up to a second year of lessons. Wood had missed last year's classes because of a clash with quidditch training, and had only paid his 12 galleons this year because he felt that he should, rather than because he'd wanted to. The idea of vanishing into thin air had never seemed particularly appealing.

"Many more from our year here?" asked Sean Carey, with whom Wood shared a dormitory.

"A couple of Slytherins," he answered, "standing right at the back. About eight from Hufflepuff, and I think there are a few from Ravenclaw too – but..."

"What?"

"I don't know her." He frowned: it was not usual to see an unfamiliar face at Hogwarts.

Sean followed his gaze. "You wouldn't. She's not the type to take any of your doss subjects. Sits on the row in front of me in Charms and she's bloody good. Susie Birch – that's her name."

As if she had heard them mention her, she turned round and caught them looking. Sean's eyes quickly darted back to the instructor guiltily, but Wood held her gaze for a moment, intrigued. Why didn't he recognise her? She had the sort of face he would have remembered.

"Don't even try, mate," Sean muttered.

"You shut your mouth, Carey."

"Quiet, Wood!" McGonagall was watching them, and they both turned their attention reluctantly back to the class. The breeze was picking up. It was becoming increasingly difficult to make out what the instructor was saying, but it seemed to be something about concentration and desire... and splinching. That didn't sound promising.

Suddenly, the students on the front row, some more confidently than others, began to turn elaborate pirouettes, and all looked remarkably foolish. Wood's eyes lingered on Susie Birch, whose clumsy twirl left her staggering for balance. There was something engaging in her self-deprecating laugh, and as she cast another shy, guarded glance in his direction, he realised that he was staring.

"Is that all there is to it?" Sean was attempting a pirouette of his own. "Just turn on the spot and hope for the best?"

"It looks like it." Wood wasn't concentrating: he felt suddenly self-conscious, and resisted the urge to check whether Susie's eyes were still on him, but had to laugh as Sean ended up on his hands and knees.

"You look like such an idiot."

"You try it, then."

"All right." He settled himself with his feet firmly apart and his hands by his side, fixing his gaze on the wooden hoop that lay five feet away on the grass. All he had to do was disappear and appear again, to will himself through the air and into that hoop. Concentration and desire: it didn't sound all that different from quidditch, and, realising this, he felt instantly more confident. He launched himself into a sharp turn – and found himself in exactly the same place, with Sean blinking at him stupidly.

"This is daft."

"It's a bloody joke."

He tried again, and again to no avail, although he at least had managed to stay on his feet. Apparently the talent for keeping a quaffle out of a quidditch hoop had no relation to apparition after all – and all the while, there was Susie, smiling away on the front row.

Neither Wood, Carey nor any of the other students achieved anything like apparition during the class, but the instructor explained patiently that this was to be expected.

"How long d'you think it'll be before we actually manage it?" Sean asked as they ambled back across the lawns to the castle.

Wood didn't answer: he had no idea, and his eyes had settled on Susie in the crowd ahead, in the middle of a group of Ravenclaws. There was a tight, knotted sensation in the pit of his stomach, a growing sense of irrational but lingering frustration at his inability to tear his gaze away from her – and his failure to master apparition at the first attempt. He pictured himself materialising casually in the wooden hoop while the others stared. She would be watching and admiring, of course. As little as he knew of Susie, there was something very pleasing in the thought of her sitting up in that strange blue common room, blushing slightly and thinking of him.

"I mean, I'd rather not spend every Saturday morning doing pirouettes on the front lawn."

What was Sean talking about? He nodded vaguely, not knowing how to reply.

Her robes looked a little too big for her, he thought – or was it just that she was smaller than the average? She was certainly shorter than the other Ravenclaw girl she was walking with, but he guessed that her figure would be better than the other girl's...

"Have you started that Herbology essay yet?"

His imagination led him down ever more vivid trails: he pictured sliding a hand under her robes, around her waist; then kissing her, pulling her closer as she giggled shyly...

"Wood? Are you even listening?"

"What?"

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws headed up different staircases, and Susie disappeared from sight. When Wood turned back to Sean, his friend was shaking his head despairingly.

"Never mind. I'll ask you again when you've finished eyeing up Birch."

He grinned. "Admit it, she's not bad."

Sean nodded, flashing him a conciliatory smile. "You could do much worse. She wouldn't go for you, though."

"How do you know?"

"I don't think she's a quidditch fan."

The image of Susie Birch refused to leave Wood's mind for the rest of the day and the long night that followed. By the next morning, however, there was training to think about, and the impending match against Slytherin – and Susie was quickly forgotten.

* * *

><p>Next Saturday morning, the Ministry instructor decided to mix up the rows of students. "It will enable you all to concentrate fully," he claimed, and although this reasoning was roundly met with scepticism, the heads of houses divided up their rows accordingly. Wood found himself right at the front between a couple of sixth years from Hufflepuff, and looked round for Sean. There he was, frowning resolutely beside a very ugly Slytherin girl, but there – how could he have forgotten about her? There, just past the Hufflepuff kid on his left, stood Susie Birch.<p>

She was standing with her weight on one leg and her arms folded and her hair – dark blonde, almost reddish in this light – rippling loosely in the wind. She was captivating. Instantly, he thought again about kissing her, but she turned suddenly – he'd been caught staring once more.

Be casual, his brain was saying. Look normal. Stop being a creep.

He smiled awkwardly. "Hi."

She was smiling back. "Hi." She was gorgeous, he realised, and she was smiling and talking to him – to _him_. She nodded towards the wooden hoops in front of them. "Feeling confident?"

"Not in the slightest."

Her smile widened. "Me neither."

You could hear the smile in her voice. It was lovely; it rang maddeningly in his ears.

The instructor was talking again. "Focus your determination to occupy the visualised space. Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every part of your body."

There was already a yearning in Wood's body, but it had nothing to do with wooden hoops. The class began once again to spin on the spot, though he felt even less inclined to make a fool of himself than he had last week. He glanced at Susie, who appeared to have forgotten all about him and was staring thoughtfully at her hoop. McGonagall was standing nearby, he realised, and he called out to her.

"What's the trick, professor?"

She came towards him, wearing the fond, maternal smile with which she had always regarded her house's star keeper. "There is no _trick_, Mr Wood," she said, "and no shortcut. The ability to apparate only comes with practise."

Susie and the two Hufflepuffs were listening in, as if hoping to overhear a pearl of wisdom that would suddenly render everything simple and clear.

"But what point is there in practising if we don't know what to look for?" Wood asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susie nod in agreement and felt a burst of – what was it? Satisfaction, triumph, excitement? "All of this spinning's getting us nowhere."

McGonagall smiled knowingly. "Perhaps you should have paid more attention to your instructor in last week's class." If he had been the type to feel embarrassed, he might have blushed. He could feel Susie's gaze on him. McGonagall continued. "The key to apparition is focus. You must eliminate all distractions and channel your determination. Then, turn quickly on the spot, and you will begin to feel a certain elastic quality to the air: a thinness, perhaps. Feel its pull, and allow yourself to fall into it."

Wood nodded hesitantly, turning his eyes back to the wooden hoop on the grass. Elastic air, he repeated to himself, fall into the elastic air; and what followed was almost indescribably strange. He launched himself into a determined spin and felt at once that the air was _bending_. The world around him blurred and warped; his insides seemed to contract tightly.

"Lean into it!" McGonagall called suddenly. He leaned – and saw grass hurtling up towards him. An overpowering urge to retch shuddered through him.

"Excellent, Wood!" McGonagall said. He didn't _feel_ excellent, lying flat on the ground, dizzy, bruised and – there was no other word for it – hungover. Rolling over onto his back with a groan, he put up a hand to shade his eyes from the dazzling sunlight. His head was pounding. "It is normal," she was saying, "to experience a little physical discomfort at first, but soon it will become familiar and you'll be able to actually apparate."

So that hadn't even been full apparition? "Bugger that. I think I'll stick to flying."

A sudden shadow fell across him. "Are you ok?" He opened his eyes: there was Susie standing over him, her brow furrowed slightly in concern.

"I'm spectacular," he answered, and the corners of her mouth twitched into what might have been a smile.

"Do you want to try again?" McGonagall asked. Susie moved away and he clambered clumsily to his feet, buoyed by her apparent concern.

"And you, Miss Birch," the Gryffindor head of house was saying, "have you tried yet?"

"Not with any success," Susie answered. "I mean, I haven't got anything like as far as Wood did just now."

He grinned stupidly, unable to stop himself. The brilliant and lovely Ravenclaw prefect had known his name and was actually admiring his progress. He wondered suddenly whether she thought about him like he thought about her, whether she had ever fantasised about kissing him. The nausea of a few seconds ago had all but disappeared: that once distant wooden hoop now seemed very close.

Once again, he focussed his attention on that circle of grass within the hoop, but could not resist sneaking a glance at Susie before turning quickly on the spot. Again, the elasticity of the air, the pushing and pulling, the blurring and the warping – and all within a fraction of a second. But this time he yielded to it: it seemed remarkably easy. And then a new wall of sensations hit him: the swish of black robes, the flick of long hair against his cheek, then a startled pair of wide, green, feminine eyes. With an exclamation of surprise, he tumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on the grass. He had apparated – but not into his own hoop.

"Well done, Miss Birch!" McGonagall was saying. Susie too had collapsed onto the grass, pale, shaken and utterly bewildered. "But target practise is in order for you, Wood, I think. You missed the spot by quite a way..."

"How do you know that wasn't what I intended?" he muttered, and only Susie heard, lying next to him on the grass. A shy smile, a slight blush: she had understood him perfectly.

And that was how it began.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading. Reviews would, of course, be a real treat - however critical.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to those of you who reviewed! Your comments were vastly appreciated. I hope you enjoy this: it might seem a bit heavy on the OCs, but I wanted to try writing a scene from the lives of ordinary Hogwarts students. Did I get it right? Please feel free to let me know.

**Chapter 2**

_October 1993, Hogwarts_

The Ravenclaw common room was quiet when Susie and her friend Arabella Fox returned to it following their apparition class. This was to be expected on a Saturday morning early in the term: many students had not yet left their dormitories, and very, very few actually appeared to be working. Among the few was their fellow seventh year Michael, who was reading in an armchair by one of the many windows.

"How was it?" he asked without looking up from the page, before they had even sat down.

"Good," Susie answered noncommittally as she sank into an armchair, but Arabella decided to elaborate.

"Susie managed to apparate," she announced.

Michael glanced up in interest. "Oh, did you? Well done! It took me weeks."

"But," Bella cut across him, "that's not the half of it." She paused dramatically, flashing Susie a knowing smile. "Oliver Wood apparated into her hoop."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a euphemism?" Bella snorted with laughter. Susie, grinning almost guiltily, tried to explain.

"It doesn't mean anything. It's just that we both apparated at the same time and ended up in the same spot."

"No," Bella insisted, "_he_ ended up in the spot that _you_ were supposed to be aiming for. You heard what the instructor was saying... 'focus your yearning' and all that. It seems that Wood was just _yearning_ to be near you."

"Bella, really..."

"What are you complaining about? He's not a bad guy to be fancied by. Ok, so he's not exactly spectacularly handsome, but he's all rough around the edges..."

"I hardly know him. I've only really seen him during quidditch matches."

"Ah yes," said Michael, turning a page thoughtfully, "when he's got that enormous broomstick between his legs."

Susie felt herself blushing furiously and suppressed the urge to laugh. "I am not thinking about his _broomstick_."

"Darling, I didn't say you were." There was a playful twinkle in Michael's eyes: she'd walked straight into that one.

She turned away, casting her gaze out of the window, feeling mildly angry with herself. Why was she arguing? Why should she claim to be anything other than fabulously excited by the sudden attention from Wood? If anything, she thought Bella's appraisal of him was a little harsh. No, he wasn't 'spectacularly handsome', but there was definitely something attractive in his tall, burly frame and gentle but impenetrable eyes; and the phrase 'rough around the edges' made her feel inexplicably nervous. And then there was his accent, with the warm Scottish twang...

"She's smiling," Bella observed. "That gives her away."

"Do you like him?" Michael asked.

She looked back at her friends, grinning shyly. "Please don't tell everyone."

"You do!"

"Of course she does!"

Bella wrapped an almost maternal arm around her shoulders and Michael shook his head with a warm, fond smile.

"Look at her," he said. "Our lovely, virginal little prefect is all sexy and grown up with strange men lusting after her."

"He's not that strange," she put in, but this time she didn't argue too much. She'd never really had a proper boyfriend, or felt that anyone would find her attractive. While Bella wore her low-cut blouses and make-up, Susie had always been the church mouse in the corner, most often with her nose in a book. Everything was suddenly new – and exciting.

* * *

><p>Susie and Bella were in the library. It was Monday afternoon, and one of them was working. Susie had a Transfiguration textbook open in front of her and was conscientiously taking notes; Bella, already longing for the weekend, was staring blankly at an overdue Potions essay and turning her quill absent-mindedly through her fingers.<p>

"Oi, Foxy!"

Both girls glanced up to see Sean Carey slipping into a seat a little further along the table. Bella flashed him her usual commanding, more than a little bit flirtatious smile. "What do you want, Carey?"

"Have you done the History of Magic work yet?"

"Shh!" Percy Weasley shot them a death stare from the next table. "Some of us are trying to work!" he hissed.

"All right! Keep your hair on, Perce!" Sean turned his attention back to Bella and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "Have you?" he asked again. "'Cause I haven't got a clue and Binns is already looking for any excuse to chuck me off the course..." He began to pull parchment and ink out of his bag. "I was going to copy Wood's but he buggered off to training after lunch without giving it to me."

"Why would you want to copy Wood's?" Bella asked, exchanging grins with Susie. "He hasn't got two brain cells to rub together."

"Nah – that's just what he wants you to think. He's not actually as thick as he lets on sometimes." He looked at her hopefully. "Go on, Bella, let me have yours."

"Give me one good reason why I should." She leaned forwards suggestively, resting her chin on her hand.

He mirrored her, returning a flirtatious smirk, and opened his mouth to reply – but his expression suddenly changed. "Where the hell have you been?"

Wood appeared seemingly out of nowhere and dumped his satchel next to the seat opposite Sean. Susie froze, feeling instantly self-conscious: the last time she'd seen him, they'd ended up lying side-by-side on the grass. She wished suddenly that she had Bella's aptitude for witty, flirty comments.

"McGonagall's office," Wood revealed, falling into a chair. He was sitting on the opposite side of the table from her and she stole a glance at him. He looked every inch the disaffected teenage schoolboy, with his robes flung casually over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his Gryffindor tie knotted loosely over an unbuttoned collar. She tried to return to her Transfiguration notes, but it was too late: his smile, his voice, his muscular shoulders had already commanded her undivided attention.

"What did she want?" Sean asked.

"She wanted to know whether it was really necessary to have so many training sessions. She seemed to think I was putting quidditch above the physical and mental well-being of my team."

"Well, she's right, isn't she?" Wood glanced sharply at her as she spoke, holding her gaze intently for a few seconds. Susie fought hard against the blush that was rising to her cheeks, half wishing she'd stayed silent. There was something terrifyingly frank and unabashed in his unwavering eyes.

"She probably is, actually," he assented, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything differently."

"Too bloody right," Sean put in. "I'd rather see the whole lot of you have mental breakdowns by Easter than have any more grubby little Slytherin fingers on the Quidditch Cup."

Susie could feel Bella looking at her and shyly met her friend's gaze. "Go on, Susie!" her wide eyes seemed to shout across the table. "Go get him, girl!"

"Have you got that stuff for Binns?" Sean was asking.

Wood let out an exasperated sigh. "It takes, like, ten minutes..."

"Can I just have it?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have mine?" Bella asked, flashing him a smile.

"Well, if you're offering..." The two Gryffindors exchanged grins.

"Just don't let Percy know you've been fraternising with the enemy," Wood warned. "If Ravenclaw beat us this year, he'll never live it down." They all turned their gaze towards the Head Boy at the next table, who had glanced up as soon as his name had been mentioned.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Wood explained. "Carey was just considering sharing homework with a Ravenclaw girl, but I didn't think you'd be too impressed."

"He won't mind," Sean insisted. "You're always up for a bit of the old inter-house diplomacy, aren't you, Perce? Especially with Ravenclaw girls, from what I hear..."

Susie and Bella forced back their laughter, but couldn't hide their grins; Percy glared at them.

"Right – that's it!" He slammed his books shut. "I cannot work in this environment!"

The girls collapsed into giggles as he stormed out of the library, only pausing to cast Susie an icy glare. "I would have expected better from a _prefect_," he said sniffily, then flounced away.

Susie felt a flash of excitement as she watched him go: she was usually the prim prefect telling people to be quiet, but being on the other side of the situation was infinitely more fun.

"What's got into you, Susie?" Bella teased, shooting her friend a wide-eyed, suggestive look.

"Yeah," Sean put in, "you're usually so... so _nice_. Weasley looked really disappointed in you."

"Apparently I'm just not a patch on Penelope Clearwater," she sighed wistfully.

"That must be a good thing, though," Wood said. She met his eyes, and as she did so a shy sort of excitement flickered somewhere inside her. She wondered whether Wood was aware of the effect he was having on her, of the fact that she felt a tremor of anticipation whenever he looked in her direction. "If you were more like Clearwater, Percy might actually fancy you."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Sean asked, grinning at Wood.

"No," he said, sounding perfectly serious. "No, we wouldn't." Still, his eyes looked into hers. Was he thinking the same as she was? The twinkle in his eyes suggested that he was. Neither of them noticed Sean and Bella exchanging meaningful glances.

"That's enough!" The shrill tones of Madame Pince shattered the moment. "I must ask both of you gentlemen to leave at once!"

"But I've only just arrived!" Wood protested.

"And I have heard nothing but disturbance ever since."

Susie put on her best prefect voice. "If I may say so, Madame Pince..."

"You may not say anything, Miss Birch. You should be grateful that I'm allowing you to stay."

Susie fell silent, unused to being on the wrong side of teachers, but cast a brief glance at Wood. He began to pull his robes back on reluctantly; Sean was packing his things slowly away.

"It's been good talking to you," Sean said as he left.

"See you," Wood said simply. He caught Susie's eye again and they exchanged friendly nods.

As the two Gryffindor boys left and Madame Pince resumed her usual position behind the counter, Bella shot Susie an excited grin. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you," she whispered across the table. Susie shook her head dismissively and went back to her Transfiguration homework, but didn't take any of it in; inside, she was smiling uncontrollably.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_October 1993, Hogwarts_

On the Thursday following her second apparition class, Susie had a free period before dinner. Coming out of the Transfiguration classroom, she said goodbye to Bella, who was hurrying straight off to History of Magic, then paused. Usually, she would have headed up to the common room, or perhaps to the library, but today she felt drawn outdoors. The grounds were glowing in the golden sunlight of a late afternoon in autumn, and she was struck by a sudden distaste for the idle chatter of the common room and the oppressive silence of the library.

So, five minutes later, she was to be found settling down under an ancient oak on the banks of the lake with a Charms textbook open in her lap. The air was unusually warm for October, but cool enough to keep the majority of her noisy classmates indoors. Susie closed her eyes for a moment, revelling in the tranquillity, in the rare moment of calm. Quickly, though, she settled down to her reading. She had performed excellently in every exam she had ever taken, and fully intended to come top of her year in NEWTs. Thankfully, the dizziness and distraction that had followed the weekend's apparition class had abated: but for those few minutes in the library, she hadn't seen Oliver Wood since then, and had fallen back into her usual studious ways.

Perhaps half an hour passed. Susie sat perfectly still. In the background, the lake lapped gently at the shore and the leaves above her rustled on their branches. Absent-mindedly, she twirled a lock of hair around a finger.

"Mind if I join you?" She glanced up sharply. Oliver Wood was striding down the lawns towards her, clad in the scarlet and gold robes of the Gryffindor quidditch team and carrying his broom over his shoulder. Charms reading was forgotten instantly.

"Of course not," she replied, smiling in what she hoped was an attractive, encouraging fashion.

He paused. "If you're working, though, I won't disturb you."

She quickly slammed the book shut. "I'm not working. Really. Well, it's just a bit of reading for Charms. It's not urgent."

She groaned inwardly: her voice sounded nervous and foolish. Thankfully, Wood didn't seem to notice, but said "ok" and sat down heavily.

"Have you come straight from training?" she asked, doing her best to sound normal.

He nodded, and accompanied the gesture with an affirmative "mmm" sound.

"Tired?" She noticed that his hair was slightly damp with perspiration at the temples.

He grinned. "Yeah, but in a good way. I'd rather have an exhausting hour of quidditch than a boring one in the classroom. Wouldn't you?" She didn't answer; he shot her a small smile. "Maybe not." There was a short pause. "How's Charms coming along?"

The question, voiced carefully with a great deal of hesitation and awkwardness, sounded faintly ridiculous, but she appreciated his effort to keep the conversation going. "It's coming along very well, thank you."

"Have you come across any fun new spells?"

She couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" His voice was full of mock indignation. "I was being serious."

"There are one or two... But what about you? How's the quidditch training going?"

"Very well actually. We've got a good team: better than the other three in every department. Just look at our seeker, Potter. There's no way any of the rest could outdo him, especially not that girl who's getting picked for Ravenclaw these days." He flashed her a mischievous grin. "It'll be a travesty if we don't win the cup this year."

Susie had no interest in quidditch beyond basic house loyalty, but Wood spoke with such passion that it was a joy just to listen to him.

"I suppose at this point I should probably say something in defence of my house," she put in.

"You probably should, yeah." He held her gaze for a few seconds with an unashamed intensity that made her nervous. "You know, Susie," he began slowly, her name sounding distinctly strange as it rolled off his heavily accented tongue, "you're a bit of a mystery to me."

She was quickly learning that he wasn't the type to mince his words, or to put up a barrier between thought and speech. Some might have called him tactless, but she liked him for it: his manner was refreshingly genuine and put her completely at ease.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "What I mean is that the wizarding world is a small place, and Hogwarts is even smaller. Everyone seems to know everyone else."

"But you don't know me?"

"Exactly."

"Well that's hardly surprising. We're not in any of the same classes."

"Are you muggle-born?"

She hesitated, caught off guard. Where had that come from? "Yes."

"I thought you might be."

"Well, not really." He watched her in interest. "My dad's a muggle, but my mum's a witch and came to school here. She never really took to magic, though – she's not a squib, just not very good. She left Hogwarts with a handful of OWLs in things like Muggle Studies. When she met my dad, she sort of fell in love with the muggle way of life, with a world in which she could be just as good as anyone else. It was a bit of a shock for all of us when I got my Hogwarts letter. I'd known nothing about magic till then."

"And yet you seem to have settled into it pretty well."

"Yes." Where had it come from, this sudden compulsion to open her heart and mind to him? Wood leant back casually on one elbow: their conversation didn't seem at all unusual to him. "What made you think I was muggle-born?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh, all sorts of things. Your name, for one: I couldn't remember hearing of any magical families called Birch."

She wondered vaguely just how much thought he'd given the matter. "I suppose you're of plain old magical stock?"

"The plainest of the plain. My parents own a farm up on the west coast of Scotland; dad does a bit of quidditch coaching on the side."

"That makes sense." He shot her a sharp glance and she explained quickly. "That your dad's a quidditch coach, I mean – not that your family's plain."

His features melted into a playful grin. "I knew what you meant."

For a few seconds, she simply looked at him, holding his gaze. He was lovely, she realised, hardly able to believe her luck, and the label 'not spectacularly handsome' seemed increasingly ridiculous. His eyes had this way of softening when he smiled at her that gave her a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. And she was struck by the physicality of the quidditch player – by the hair damp with perspiration and the muscular shoulders. It all made her feel distinctly, inexplicably nervous. Feeling suddenly awkward, she looked away.

"So..." She searched for something to say. "Why quidditch?"

His first response was a long sigh, as if he didn't know where to begin, followed by a slight grin and a sidelong glance. "I can tell from your mildly patronising tone of voice that you're not a fan."

"I've never been good at sports."

"But quidditch is so much more than just a _sport_!"

"Why?"

He regarded her guardedly for a few seconds. "The thing with quidditch is that it's really more than just one game. I've seen and played muggle sports and they're all essentially focussed on one event: the team is all moving in the same direction. A quidditch team has to retain that sense of togetherness while playing on three different levels. I mean, the keeper and chasers are playing one game, while the seeker plays another, and the beaters are somewhere in between. D'you see?"

His eyes were shining; he was becoming increasingly animated.

"I've never thought about it like that before." It didn't really make sense to her, but she chose not to tell him this. "So is that something you might do after Hogwarts – play quidditch?"

"Oh, definitely. I've never wanted to be anything other than a professional keeper."

"Do you think you're good enough?"

"Yes." His frankness raised a small smile to her lips. "I'm a decent keeper and I'm improving all the time. And it would help if we could win the cup this year."

His certainty and confidence were, to her, remarkable. Despite her clear academic ability, she had always been loath to take the future for granted.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"What are you going to do after school?"

"I'd like to be a journalist."

Oliver raised an eyebrow in interest. "Really? That's impressive. For the _Prophet_?"

She nodded. "I have this idea that there's something wrong with the style of reporting that exists at the moment. People like Rita Skeeter get away with printing sensationalistic lies because it's supposedly what people want, but I don't agree. I think that the readership of this country's biggest newspaper deserves better. Things could do with being shaken up a bit." She stopped abruptly, suddenly becoming aware that she had never voiced these thoughts before.

Wood was smiling at her. "That's amazing: an ambition to revolutionise journalism."

"Revolutionise isn't quite the word I'd use..."

"But you're right. We could do with fewer people like Skeeter and more like you. I think you'd be good at that."

"Do you?"

"Of course."

Knowing that he wasn't the type to flatter her, she felt quietly pleased. "You know," she began, somewhat hesitantly, "I've never told anyone that before."

Again, that warm smile and the gently glowing eyes. "I'm touched," he declared, only half jokingly. "It must be my accent. Apparently lots of people find it easier to talk to a friendly Scottish voice."

She didn't say anything. Perhaps he was right, even if he was joking. At any rate, she was struggling to explain her sudden openness in his presence.

"Why haven't you told anyone else that?" he asked, all traces of humour gone from his voice and replaced by a mildly inquisitive, searching tone. He sounded almost concerned, and she felt strangely nervous.

"I suppose –" She hesitated: the answer sounded ridiculous even in her head.

"Go on." Wood was looking straight at her now.

"I suppose that as long as I didn't say it aloud, it was never more than... than an idea – and it wouldn't mean that I'd failed if I didn't achieve it."

He held her gaze with a manner that was touchingly sincere. "That's the saddest thing I've heard in a long time," he said. She felt a dull sense of shame settling on her, as if she'd allowed him to see the worst and weakest aspects of her character. "Susie, you can't be afraid of failure. If you're afraid to fail, then you won't try, and if you're scared to try, then – then you've failed before you've even started." He frowned. "I'm not sure that that even makes sense. And you don't have to take my word for it. I mean, who am I to lecture you on motivation and self-belief?"

She remained silent, unsure whether to feel invigorated, humiliated, or just plain depressed, and he soon sensed her unease.

"Are you embarrassed? Sorry. Please don't be. I'm completely tactless, I know, but I hate it when people feel that they have to be anything other than themselves just to create a certain impression. I'd be more impressed by someone who was brave enough to admit to their faults."

She smiled slightly, sensing an opportunity to lighten the tone. "And what makes you think I'd want to impress you?"

A grin. "The fact that you haven't told me to piss off yet. That's the usual response I get when I try to tell people how to live their lives."

A light laugh tumbled unwittingly from her lips: he was right. And now he was looking at her closely, wearing an unreadable smile.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Was this some sort of test? She looked squarely back at him and considered her answer for a moment before she gave it. "I'm thinking that I can't figure you out." His smile widened at this response. "I feel like... like I should be offended by your extremely presumptuous and arrogant attempts to read my character, but I'm also unsettled by the fact that you got it right – so now I'm wondering whether I really am completely transparent, or whether you're just extraordinarily perceptive. And I'm thinking that in spite of your arrogance, your complete lack of any tact or delicacy, and your unhealthy obsession with quidditch, you're not bad. I can't ever remember having such an honest but bewildering conversation."

As she finished, his eyes shone with unabashed delight: though she could not have known it, no words could have made him happier. And now there was a new twinkle in his eyes, a mischievous and undisguised hint of flirtation that brought a shy smile to her lips.

"Bewildering in a good way?" he asked.

"I can't decide..."

"Then maybe we should have some more of these bewildering conversations – just so you can make your mind up."

His words ricocheted around her mind. This is really happening, she assured herself: yes, you are actually sitting by the lake flirting with Oliver Wood. Her first thought was that Bella would have been so very proud of her.

"Maybe we should," she answered, not trusting herself to look into his eyes. The playfulness in them had ignited a tiny spark inside her that was at once terrifying and delicious. Her gaze fell on the forgotten Charms textbook in her lap. "I think I might head back up to the common room and get rid of my books before dinner."

"Yeah," he agreed vaguely, and she began to pack her books into her satchel.

"Are you coming?"

"Not yet," he answered after a moment's hesitation. "I'll stay out here for a little while, I think."

"Ok." She tried not to sound too disappointed: she'd hoped for a slightly more proactive response. "I'll see you later then." When? When would she possibly run into him?

"See you." She turned to leave, her smile fading, but – "Susie?" He was on his feet now.

"Yeah?"

"You know how there's a Hogsmeade trip next weekend?" She nodded, hardly daring to believe what must follow. Were those nerves in his voice? "We could –" He coughed awkwardly. "I mean, why don't we go together?"

* * *

><p>AN: As ever, huge thanks for the reviews! It really is good to know that this story is spreading a little bit of Oliver Wood-based joy out into the world. Any thoughts or feelings on this chapter? I'd love to hear them. No thoughts at all? I'd love to hear that too. Thanks again for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_November 1993, Hogsmeade_

"How was that?"

Susie opened her eyes and looked straight into Oliver's. If anything, it had been wet and clumsy – but nice. She sighed in mock frustration, unable to suppress the smile that was rising to her lips. "I can't decide," she told him. "You'd better kiss me again so I can be sure."

He grinned. "Is that right?" Obediently, he leaned in to kiss her, and she knew at once that it was better this time: more gentle, and yet more confident. He slid an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, thinking that this was utterly, utterly lovely, and that she could quite happily just kiss him forever.

"Better?"

He was so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek and smell the warmth of his skin. The weight of his hand at the small of her back, heavier and firmer than she would have expected, was tantalising. She could only nod in reply, and now they were both laughing nervously.

"Is this too soon?" he asked. "Isn't kissing on the first date a bit keen?"

"No," she answered simply, shaking her head, half wishing she'd been able to come up with a wittier reply and feeling mildly stupid. Remarkably, he didn't seem to have noticed. So, as if to demonstrate the truth in her answer, she pressed her lips eagerly to his once more. This was all just too wonderful: he was perfect, perfect, perfect.

As they had left the castle together that morning, the light but persistent rain had kept many of their fellow students indoors, but they had sought shelter in a quiet corner of the Three Broomsticks and hadn't left for hours. Tongues loosened by butterbeer and by the enthusiasm of newfound intimacy, they talked and talked about all manner of things. As before, Susie had found herself telling him things that she had hardly even admitted to herself, but knowing instinctively that she could trust him completely. Everything felt right, more so than it ever had before. Once the rain had stopped, he'd suggested a walk out towards the Shrieking Shack. On the path, he had slipped his hand into hers, and the kiss, when it came, seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Susie found herself wondering repeatedly why it had taken her so long to discover Oliver Wood.

So here they were, kissing in the rain not far from the most haunted house in Britain. The setting seemed fabulously unromantic. With each second that passed, she became more engrossed, more intent on remaining close to him. And there was an ache growing within her, almost painful in its potency, to be even closer.

"Is that _Wood_?" They separated suddenly, stepping back awkwardly, and saw a couple of Gryffindor third years – a freckled, red-haired boy and a snooty looking brown-haired girl – gawping at them from the turn in the path.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Wood seemed instantly confident, and she felt a surge of pride that he should be able to deal so casually with a situation which would have reduced her to a blushing, stuttering wreck.

"We're just on our way to the Shrieking Shack," the girl explained in an almost insufferably self-righteous tone.

"Can't you go another time?" he suggested.

She frowned. "I think you'll find that this is a public right of way. We can walk along it whenever we choose to, whatever you might have to say on the subject."

"It's got nothing to do with me, Granger. The rain's left the path all muddy and it's impassable in places. We just tried to go but had to turn back." He lied flawlessly, but the girl eyed him suspiciously. Wouldn't they just go away?

"I don't believe you," she said flatly.

Her companion was shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. "C'mon, Hermione," he muttered. "Let's just come back next time."

She did as he asked, but reluctantly, and with a clearly audible "humph" sound. Wood watched them go, then was pulled urgently back into Susie's arms.

* * *

><p>By the time Wood returned to Gryffindor Tower, news of him and Susie had somehow already spread right through the common room. As soon as he climbed through the portrait-hole, he saw Sean deep in conversation with Fred and George, and guessed from their all-knowing smirks what they might be talking about.<p>

"Have fun in Hogsmeade, then?" Fred called, and Wood approached them with a comfortable smile. He had nothing to hide: who wouldn't want to spend an afternoon kissing Susie Birch?

"I did, thanks," he replied, sinking into an armchair next to the twins.

"I'm not surprised," Sean said. "Apparently you spent most of the day snogging Birch."

"It didn't take that long to be spread around, then."

"Ron told us," George revealed. "He said that him and Hermione were trying to get to the Shrieking Shack, but you wouldn't let them past because you were busy eating some girl's face..."

"Well, she has a very nice face."

"That's true," Sean assented.

"So how did you do it?" Fred asked.

"What?"

"Love potion?" George suggested. "Or perhaps a Confundus charm?"

"Because any girl in her right mind wouldn't dream of hanging round long enough for you to kiss her..."

"She'd run screaming as soon as she realised that you don't actually talk about anything but quidditch..."

"So that'd be after about five minutes."

Wood grinned: not even the chatter of Fred and George could irritate him today. The warmth of Susie's lips was still fresh in his memory and made all of their jibes worthwhile.

"But seriously," Sean said, leaning forward meaningfully, "it's good to see you finally get off the mark."

"We were starting to worry about you, Oliver," Fred told him.

"I mean, the only time you've ever actually been near a girl was that half-baked thing with Katie in fifth year."

He winced at this reminder from Sean. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world, him and Katie, keeper and chaser – until they actually got together. Over a few weeks of excruciatingly awkward conversations and one clumsy, somewhat reluctant attempt at a kiss, it had become clear that it was not going to work, and they had parted amicably before it all got too embarrassing. Thankfully, they had maintained a good working relationship on the quidditch pitch, but they had never quite recovered that easy intimacy of their former friendship.

"And there were one or two rumours floating round," Sean went on.

He glanced up in cautious interest. "Rumours?"

His friend grinned awkwardly. "You know, the combination of no girlfriend and an obsession with a sport that – let's be honest – is pretty heavy on the phallic imagery..."

Wood raised an eyebrow: this was news to him.

"I'm not saying that everyone thinks you bat for the other side, just that a few people did start to wonder..."

"Right." He wasn't sure entirely how to take this, whether to laugh or cry. "Great. Thanks for that."

George spoke next. "And before he left, some people even suggested that you and Marcus Flint..."

"_Flint_? You can't be serious." This definitely wasn't funny: the very thought was beyond revolting.

"It's not that far-fetched," Fred reasoned. "You both hated each other so passionately, and you'd been adversaries for so many years – and you know they say that opposites attract."

"People thought me and Flint...?" He could hardly believe it. Was this really what people made of his love for quidditch? His first thought was to ask which people precisely had been asking these questions, so that he could set the school's most vicious bludgers on them. His eyes fell on Sean, who was trying and failing to hold in his laughter.

"Well?" asked George. "Did you never even consider a bit of – ahem – fraternising with the enemy?"

There was a moment's pregnant pause.

"To be honest, I'm offended." All three were spluttering with laughter now. "But it's not the whole gay thing that bothers me, just the thought that some people actually believed me and Flint were together. I mean... _Flint_. Bloody hell." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Do they really think I'd have such bad taste?"

"Glad to hear it, skipper." Still chuckling, Fred and George gave him conciliatory pats on the shoulder, then headed off towards the dormitories.

Wood shot Carey a serious glance. "Is that...?"

"Nay, they're just joking, mate." Sean flashed him a reassuring grin. "Do you really think people ever thought Flint was your boyfriend? Though –" he paused meaningfully, "who knows what they think of you over in Ravenclaw Tower?"

The keeper's features relaxed into a smile, grateful that his friend had steered the conversation in a more comfortable direction. He could quite happily deal with any amount of banter about girls, but all that talk of his erstwhile Slytherin counterpart had left him feeling vaguely unsettled.

"I met Bella briefly in Hogsmeade today," Sean said. "You know, foxy Bella? Susie's friend?" Wood nodded. "Apparently they're all a bit surprised about you and Birch. Seems she's usually more interested in books than boys. But don't let her trick you into thinking she's a complete angel. Flint was really into her at one point, they reckon, and she led him on for just long enough to take the absolute piss out of him."

"Really? I'm impressed."

"And Bella said that after a couple of drinks, Susie has been known to come out of her shell a bit and lose some of those schoolgirl inhibitions..."

"I like the sound of that." They exchanged grins.

"And then there was the usual warning that if you mess her best friend around, she'll hunt you down and castrate you with the blunt end of a broomstick."

"Fair enough." Wood was still smiling, but there was a small, nervous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. All of this talk had begun to impress upon him the fact that he and Susie were officially an item, a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend. It was at once a pleasing and terrifying thought.

"So what d'you reckon?" Sean asked. "Are you in it for the long haul? Marriage and babies and all that?"

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves here." Now he was feeling even more nervous: might he really end up married to Susie? "But what about you and Bella?" he asked, carefully steering the subject away from such terrifying territory.

"Me and Bella?" Sean looked intrigued.

"You flirt with each other so much it's embarrassing."

"Nah, she's too much for me. She'd eat me alive."

"Is that a bad thing?" They exchanged furtive glances, eyebrows raised suggestively.

"I'm not even going to answer that question."

At that moment, Angelina and Alicia came over with a thinly-veiled complaint about quidditch training, and talk of girls was forgotten. So, even as Susie shyly avoided the questions of Bella and Michael up in the Ravenclaw common room, Wood settled into his scarlet armchair and quidditch talk with an air of quiet contentment. Susie was his girlfriend: Susie Birch was actually his girlfriend. Life was good.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm uncomfortably aware that any attempt by a female writer (like me, for instance) to portray male conversation is always doomed from the outset. How do their minds even work? Does anyone actually know? If there are any male readers out there (which seems unlikely...) I'd appreciate any insight you can provide. Till then, you'll have to put up with my painfully girly attempts! In other news, thanks for reading and reviews would be lovely. (Up next: quidditch angst and a certain wolfish DADA teacher. How could you resist such a prospect?)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_February 1994, Hogwarts_

"Don't forget – your essays are to be handed in on Wednesday." Professor Sprout's words drifted vaguely along the length of the greenhouse, deadened somewhat by the steam of hot breath in cold February air. "And after the frankly abysmal standard of what you wrote over the Christmas holiday, I would like at least three rolls of parchment. Quidditch is not an excuse!"

Her final demand was issued with a pointed glance in the direction of the Gryffindor seventh years, none of whom seemed to pay her much attention.

"She'll be lucky," Sean commented, beginning to pack his equipment away. "Three rolls... and on a match weekend." He cast a sidelong glance at Wood, who was dusting soil irritably off his robes. "Are you going to hand it in?"

"Not a chance," the keeper replied curtly. He slung his Gryffindor scarf loosely around his neck. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Where are you going?"

But there was no answer: the greenhouse door was already swinging shut behind him. Sean frowned slightly, though more than familiar with sullen, pre-match Oliver. "Fine," he muttered.

"What's up with him?" He glanced round to see Bella Fox hovering near his workbench, looking similarly perplexed.

"Just quidditch stress," he explained. "He's always the same. He never talks to anyone but his team before a match."

"Except Susie," Bella put in.

Sean only hesitated for only the briefest of moments before answering with a bland, "Yeah."

"Not jealous, are you, Carey?" She threw him one of those smiles that he always liked. "I mean, Wood wasn't going to wait around for you forever..."

He ignored her typical jibe. "Weird, though, isn't it? They're turning into one of _those_ couples."

They exchanged significant glances. "Weird," Bella agreed. There was no more to say.

* * *

><p>Not for away, only a few minutes later, Oliver joined Susie on the banks of the lake, under the same tree that had witnessed him asking her out for the first time. She was working – an essay for Professor Lupin on whether use of the Unforgivable Curses was ever morally justifiable – and was frowning slightly behind her blue and bronze scarf, kept warm by that old student's stand-by, the jam jar of flickering magical flames.<p>

She didn't look up as he sat down beside her, but acknowledged his presence by tilting her head slightly to one side. This had become normal. After Christmas and her outstanding marks in the January mocks, she had thrown herself into schoolwork with a new vigour, and he had grown accustomed to being usurped by essays. Not that he minded: there were other things to think about today. His bag was crammed full of tactical drawings, but he'd stared at them so often that they were practically engraved on the innermost levels of his consciousness.

_Crucially, the term 'unforgivable' is the product of a stable social model, but sudden social instability calls into question the moral parameters within which this definition was formed and... and..._

Susie blinked in surprise, her mind suddenly blank, and tried desperately to grasp at the tail of the argument as it trickled out of her mind.

_Moral parameters... Social instability... Oh, bugger this._

It was impossible to concentrate while Wood's foot was tapping anxiously in the corner of her vision. In spite of his silence, she could almost hear the buzzing of tactical debate in his head.

"Don't worry about it so much," she told him. It's not as if it actually matters in the grand scheme of things, she was tempted to add, but decided that today probably wasn't the best time for the 'Exams are more important than quidditch' debate.

He didn't seem to hear.

"You're probably going to lose anyway..."

He glanced at her sharply. "Thanks for that."

"Because the whole Ravenclaw team definitely wasn't sitting round the common room fire last night bitching about Gryffindor being the favourites again and hoping Potter will fall off his broom..."

"Suze, please." He cut across her abruptly. "You spouting rubbish about Ravenclaw is not helping."

"Right. Well maybe your quidditch drama isn't helping my essay writing all that much either." She'd been working till past midnight on a Potions assignment the night before, and hadn't the patience or the energy to be sympathetic any more.

"Excuse me if my insignificant little game is distracting you from your _homework_..."

"There's no need for you to get all shirty just because I'd actually like to make something of my life..."

"At the _Prophet_? Good luck with that."

She tapped the nib of her quill irritably on the parchment, gripping it unnecessarily tightly in her increasingly inky fingers. "Are you going to turn into a complete arsehole before every match?" she wondered aloud.

Wood didn't answer for a second. Then, "Madame Hooch told me that there are going to be a couple of talent scouts from league clubs at the match tomorrow."

She fell silent, anger receding almost as quickly as it had flared up.

"There'll be one from Chudley, one from Puddlemere... Maybe even more, if they can make it."

"When did she tell you?"

"This morning."

He didn't say any more: he didn't need to.

"Bloody hell." She ran an exasperated hand through her hair. What could she do? What could she possibly say? Her gaze fell to the half-covered parchment in her lap, to the arguments that until seconds ago had seemed so important.

"Suze –" He spoke quickly, his tone strained. "What if we lose? It'll ruin everything."

She swallowed nervously. She had never before heard him give voice to self-doubt, and it unsettled her.

"I can't fail like that," he went on. "I just can't."

She sought a thoughtful and comforting response, but none came to her: eventually, the truth was all that remained. "No, you can't," she said admitted at length. "But if you lose, you lose. Maybe you're not cut out for professional quidditch after all."

He didn't say anything, but the buzzing of his thoughts seemed to have quietened, and she had a vague sense that such frankness was helpful. Wasn't this exactly what he would have said?

"So you'll just have to make sure that you win," she finished.

He nodded, his eyes hard and resigned.

"Or if you like, I could always just hex Cho for you..."

Their eyes met; his gaze softened a little. "I'll get back to you on that one."

* * *

><p>In the heights of elation and despair that followed Gryffindor's defeat of Ravenclaw the next day, Susie was to be found hurrying up the wooden steps to the teachers' stand. Why was she doing it? She hardly knew – it had been a spur of the moment decision.<p>

Peering through the rain from the nervous Ravenclaw stand opposite, binoculars pressed to her eyes, she had spotted two people who definitely weren't teachers. Both were wearing official-looking black robes, one with blue and gold piping – almost like a very old member of Ravenclaw – and the other with bright orange. They were built like Wood, but with rotund bellies bulging under robes that hinted at a few too many post-match pints over the years.

As Potter's fist had closed around the snitch and Madame Hooch had blown the final whistle, Susie had leapt from her seat with the sudden idea that if she were to pass them on the stairs, or even reach the teachers' stand before they left it, she might be able to overhear something – or at least tell whether their faces looked at all encouraging.

She came now to the top of the stairs and cast her eyes around the stand: it was all but empty, and the scouts had already left.

"Looking for someone, Susan?"

She glanced round sheepishly to see Professor Lupin smiling at her from a seat near the edge of the box, looking his usual shabby self and sheltering under an equally shabby but enormous umbrella. Trying not to look too conspicuously foolish, she smiled back and went to join him.

"I was looking for Professor Snape," she lied quickly. "I thought I might be able to hand in this week's essay in person." Snape himself was, thankfully, not present.

"I'm afraid Professor Snape's precise whereabouts are a mystery to me," he said, but patted the chair beside him, inviting her to join him under the umbrella. "I suppose you recognised the rather elegant piece of magic that Mr Potter performed just now, much to Mr Malfoy's alarm."

Of course she had: she'd read about it countless times. "The Patronus charm, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." He smiled and nodded encouragingly, slipping swiftly into the role of the teacher. "And what did you think of his Patronus charm?"

"It's very advanced magic for a third year and I was surprised to see him manage so well – but... but I'm not sure that the charm would have been strong enough to hold back real dementors for very long."

"And why is that?"

"It didn't take on an animal form, so wasn't fully developed."

"Excellent. You've been reading ahead." He looked out over the rain-soaked pitch and the gradually emptying stands, to where a small group of Slytherins were still being shouted at by Professor McGonagall. "I think we'll cover the Patronus charm in class over the next few weeks," he revealed and she glanced at him in interest. "It's unlikely to come up in your practical exam, but there is, I think, a great deal more to Defence Against the Dark Arts than passing exams."

At that moment, the triumphant Gryffindor team emerged from the changing rooms below them and was met with a roar. Wood was among them, glowing with joy, and was instantly swept up by a great scarlet wave and carried off towards the castle. Susie smiled slightly at the sight, not noticing that Lupin was watching her thoughtfully.

"Did you enjoy the match?" he asked.

"I did," she replied at once, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

"Even though Ravenclaw lost?"

She met his gaze and was struck by the eerie sensation – not uncommon with Lupin – that he knew what she was going to say before it had even formed in her mind.

"Yes," she said confidently: there was nothing to be ashamed of. "I've a friend on the Gryffindor team and I was pleased to see him do so well."

"I see." Again, that knowing look flickered somewhat unsettlingly in his eyes, cloaked behind his usual warm smile. "You know," he went on, "by pure coincidence, I ended up sitting next to an old school friend on mine during the match: Bertie Mugg. He was in the year above me. He went on to play for Puddlemere United, and these days he's involved in scouting new players." Susie froze: surely Lupin hadn't been able to read her intentions that clearly? "He agreed with what most of the staff here have been saying, that this Gryffindor side is probably the best Hogwarts has seen in living memory, when they're on form. Apparently Puddlemere are on the lookout for a promising young keeper to bolster their reserves, and he was most intrigued to hear that Oliver Wood is in his seventh year."

She could have hugged Lupin. Her happiness and relief overflowed into a grin before she could suppress it.

"This rain looks like it will only get heavier. Perhaps you should rejoin your house and get back to the castle."

"Thank you, Professor." She leapt from her seat and hurried lightly towards the top of the stairs.

"Oh – and Susan?" She hesitated and looked back to see a playful smile dancing in his eyes. "Kindly pass on my congratulations to Mr Wood when you tell him."

* * *

><p>AN: Apologies for this taking a little longer than usual: it's been a pretty nightmarish week work-wise. I hope you enjoyed this, though, and I'd love to hear what you made of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_June 1994, Hogwarts_

The ceiling of the Great Hall was bright blue that morning, and the sunlight sparkled playfully on the familiar rows of plates and goblets. It was with a tinge of slight sadness that Wood took in the prospect as his feet bore him automatically to the Gryffindor table. Of course, he wasn't usually the sentimental type, but even the sternest of quidditch captains could be forgiven a bout of Hogwarts nostalgia at a time like this. There was, truly, nowhere else like it.

Sean was already tucking into his habitual plate of scrambled eggs on toast, but there was a decidedly uncharacteristic Charms textbook open in front of him.

"Morning," he said with his mouth full of eggs as Wood swung his legs over the bench opposite him.

"How's it going?" Wood asked.

"Theory of Charms paper this morning. Three essays in three hours." He eyes didn't leave the page, but continued to scan the text anxiously.

"Feeling confident?"

"Mate, I haven't got a hope in hell."

"That's the spirit." Wood helped himself to a hearty plateful of sausages, eggs and bacon and Sean glanced up almost suspiciously.

"What about you? You seem strangely calm."

He nodded contentedly. "There's just a Herbology practical this morning."

Sean let out a derisive and somewhat eggy snort. "_Herbology practical_," he repeated. "Is it actually possible to fail that one?" Wood ignored him. "Still, there's not long now. Only three more hours of academic humiliation before we're _free_..."

They exchanged grins. After weeks of exams and months of admittedly not terribly concentrated revision, this morning's final papers marked the long-awaited end of N.E.W.T.s. Freedom felt almost perilously close.

Thoughtfully chewing a mouthful of pleasingly crispy bacon, Wood threw a glance across at the Ravenclaw table, where Susie was patiently explaining the finer points of unvoiced spells to a frantic Bella. Beside them, Michael was deep in conversation with Penelope Clearwater over what looked like a stack of Arithmancy notes. Turning his gaze back to his own house table, Wood picked out Percy hunched over a page of wand motion diagrams, looking slightly green.

"Oh, bollocks." Sean had frozen, a forkful of egg half way to his mouth. "What the bloody hell's the _tempus elucidario_ charm? Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

His despairing and slightly inelegant outburst was interrupted by the arrival of the post, and Wood took a moment simply to enjoy the spectacle of owls flooding into the hall, swooping majestically down over the house tables. He'd give anything to be able to fly like that – though he wasn't sure how good an owl would be at stopping a quaffle. Smirking slightly, he envisaged a screeching puff of feathers.

Sean didn't even blink as his usual edition of the _Prophet_ landed beside him, so Wood pulled it towards him and flipped straight to the back page.

"It looks like the Harpies beat Chudley last night," he revealed, scanning the headlines and allowing his eyes to drift over the photographs of each team's star players. "And – oh, Merlin. Puddlemere got hammered. 290 – 20 away to Wimbourne. Second-bottom in the league with only one match to go." He frowned slightly. "They could do with a new keeper."

Sean took the hint. "When's your trial for the reserves again?"

"Monday after next." He would never tire of telling people this. "If I get through that, there'll be another in July, and I should be signed up to the reserve squad before the World Cup." He looked again at the picture of the ageing, forlorn-looking Puddlemere keeper. "I won't be wasting any more time on Herbology, either way."

"Watch it," Sean muttered, and only moments later Wood heard Professor McGonagall's familiar but not necessarily welcome voice.

"I trust that you two gentlemen are both fully prepared for your final papers?" Her reluctantly guarded expression suggested otherwise.

Wood gave her his best house captain smile. "Don't worry, Professor, we won't let you down."

"I hope so." Her gaze lingered on Sean, who hadn't answered, and who looked slightly pale. "Well... best of luck to you both."

She moved further along the table to offer Percy a spot of moral support, and her place was filled almost immediately by Susie.

"Birch!" Sean's eyes lit up. "You're just the person I needed to see!"

She slipped into the seat beside Wood, clutching a freshly opened letter. Guessing her intentions, he took it from her and unfolded the expensive parchment.

"Sean, don't tell me you're still trying to revise."

"Tempus elucidario. Help."

"Really? But we only covered that one a few months ago..."

_Dear Miss S. Birch_

_Following your recent interview, and upon fulfilment of the grades predicted by your Hogwarts Head of House, it will give me great pleasure to offer you a probationary placement within the Home Affairs department of the _Daily Prophet_. Should your performance be satisfactory, you may expect an offer of permanent employment with us..._

"I've never heard of it in my life!"

"It's just a time marking charm. It was first used by medieval chroniclers; now it's most often used by quidditch coaches and commentators."

"Susie, I think I love you."

"That's very touching, Sean."

Wood met her gaze, wearing his trademark jaunty smile, and noting that half-hopeful, half-nervous flicker of excitement in her eyes.

"I knew you'd get it," he told her flatly.

A smile, tugging at the corners of her lips, was all that hinted at the depths of her delight. It was gorgeous to watch. Of course, she wouldn't embrace that delight until the results had finally come through, until the placement had been fully confirmed.

"There's something else too," she revealed, producing another letter, whose strangely white colour, blue ink and pre-printed lines instantly revealed who it was from.

"Your parents?" The prospect made him feel far more nervous than a Herbology exam ever would. The Birches had been perfectly friendly when he'd stayed with them over the Easter holidays for a few days, but he had never been able to escape from the impression that the whole thing was one big exam, that they were just waiting for him to slip up so they could snatch their perfect daughter out of his stocky quidditch player's hands.

His eyes must have given him away – as they had a habit of doing – because Susie immediately tried to reassure him.

"It's nothing scary, don't worry. And why won't you believe me when I say that they really liked you? I mean, my dad loves football, and that's practically the same as quidditch..."

"It's really not," Sean, a half-blood, put in. Susie ignored him.

"It's just about plans for the summer," she continued. "Our holiday cottage is going to be empty for a few weeks in August, and I thought we might..." She trailed off, leaving a suggestive pause during which Wood couldn't help but grin stupidly. The mere thought of having Susie to himself for a few weeks... Sean suddenly coughed awkwardly. "But I suppose that can wait," she finished, blushing, then pocketed both letters and made to leave. Her knee brushed tantalisingly against his as she lifted her legs neatly over the bench. "Have fun with Herbology."

"Where are you off to?"

"The common room. I need to gather my thoughts before Charms." It struck him as odd for a moment that she should think of the common room as a suitable pace to gather her thoughts – but then Ravenclaws always were a bit strange like that.

"I don't know why you bother," he told her mischievously, taking another generous forkful of egg and bacon. "You'll do shit anyway – as usual."

"Oliver, dearest, you have such a way with words..." She gave his shoulder an affectionate shove. "I'll see you afterwards," she called back to him as she left the hall.

Sean spoke at once in an urgent undertone. "Mate, football and quidditch really aren't the same thing – not at all."

Wood sighed vaguely. "I know, but it's easier to just let ones like that go sometimes..."

He was cut short by the ringing of the bell, and by the instantaneous emptying of all of the breakfast dishes.

"It's time," Sean announced, almost comically solemn.

"No it's not. There's still half an hour yet." Nonetheless, McGonagall was already trying to empty the hall of their fellow late breakfasters so the individual exam desks could be laid out. Sean began to flick anxiously through the remainder of his textbook.

"I don't know what you're so worried about," Wood commented. "Just give it a swish and flick and you'll be sorted."

"If I said that to you before a Gryffindor match, you'd bite my bloody head off."

"Yeah, well... that's quidditch. This is just N.E.W.T.s."

Sean simply looked at him, incredulous. There was no answer he could make to a statement like that.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, the seventh years awoke in Hogwarts for the last time. The train would be leaving at eleven and not one of them climbed out of bed before lingering for a moment under those pleasingly crisp sheets, before first nestling a little deeper under the heavy blanket, whether scarlet or blue, green or gold.<p>

Oliver Wood drew back the hangings of his bed rather more slowly than he usually would have, allowing himself a rare moment of sentiment. He would never do this again, he knew: never have another school breakfast, never get another "good morning" from the Fat Lady as he climbed through the portrait hole.

Breakfast was a sombre affair. At ten, they brought their trunks down to the entrance hall, awkwardly early due to a shared desire neither to leave nor to prolong the wait. He and Sean were among the first to come down, having made a swift exit when a couple of girls from their year had started crying in the common room. There was only so much emotional strain that could be borne by masculine reserve in one morning.

They left their trunks by a door that led off the Entrance Hall. Wood noticed it – and froze.

"The broom cupboard," he said quietly, more to himself than to Sean. Before he could stop it, his hand had reached out and opened the door; and within seconds, he was engulfed by that heavenly aroma of wood polish and mud. It was almost more than he could take.

"Look at them all..."

Racks of rickety old Shooting Stars lined the walls, notoriously unreliable and wobbly, missing a twig or two more often than not, and with the varnish of their handles worn away by generations of clammy first year fingers. Not that his fingers had been clammy during his first flying lessons, of course. He could still remember that glow of pride that had warmed his heart when, as he'd barked "up!", the broom had leapt straight into his hand.

At home, his father had never let him fly higher than a few feet off the ground, but at once he had felt that the doddery little Shooting Star understood him somehow. It had come to life in his hands like a wand. He'd thought his heart would break before he was old enough to try out for the Gryffindor team.

"You all right, mate?" Sean asked tentatively.

Wood blinked awkwardly. "Yeah... Yeah, fine." So many memories. "I'm just going to miss this place, that's all."

"Yeah," Sean answered vaguely, but Wood hardly heard: his eyes had settled on the jumbled heap of school flying boots at the back of the cupboard, the ones Madam Hooch had given him before he'd had a chance to procure some of his own. In a sudden grim rush, he was overcome by the numbing realisation that he would probably never stand here again, that Gryffindor was no longer his team, that Hogwarts was no longer his home. He swallowed painfully.

"There's something I've got to do," he told Sean suddenly, hurrying out of the broom cupboard and across the entrance hall. "I won't be long."

"Don't miss the train!" Sean called after him.

Passing through the front doors and down the steps at an ever more brisk pace, he broke into a run as his feet met the grass and flew across the lawns, past Hagrid's hut and away from the lake. And there it was, proud and tall with its banners fluttering in the clear morning sky: the quidditch pitch. Letting his pace drop a little, he cut through the dressing rooms – the Weasleys' laughter seemed to echo through the empty space – and finally issued forth from the tunnel on to the field. He could almost feel the weight of his scarlet and gold robes on his shoulders; almost smell the polish of his broom; almost hear the roar of the crowd carrying him higher and higher into the air like a warm subtropical wind.

"Don't you dare burst into tears, you soft git," he heard his voice saying somewhat feebly. "Don't!"

Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath – but when he opened them, all he saw was the grass, the grass that always seemed greener at Hogwarts. And then there was the fine white sand around the feet of the hoops, sand in which he'd landed with a painful thud on more occasions than he cared to recall. And then the hoops themselves: how fervently he'd defended them over the years! Each one was a dear friend.

It was only then that he noticed McGonagall. She was watching him from a distance, her sharp eyes softer than usual, and she began to approach now that he'd seen her.

"I thought I might find you here, Wood."

"I'm just getting a last look at the place," he explained hastily, wishing his heart would stop throbbing quite so painfully.

"I quite understand." She was holding out a small package, rectangular and wrapped, of course, in scarlet paper. "I thought I'd give this to you away from the others – though I've been accused of favouritism so many times in your case that once more would hardly have made a difference."

She smiled fondly, but Wood didn't move. He was fighting an internal battle with his emotions, which, faced with this new onslaught, were threatening to give way at any moment. Watching him closely, she spoke again.

"It's a small token of thanks for your loyal service of your house: for years of excellent keeping and inspiring captaincy."

Oh, McGonagall. He could have hugged her. Instead, he managed a quiet "thanks, Professor," and took the gift. His clumsy fingers slowly unwrapped a framed photograph of his cup-winning team – _his team_ – after that magnificent match against Slytherin.

McGonagall could not know what was unfolding behind those steely eyes, behind that deeply furrowed brow: the minds of teenage boys were a perpetual source of bemusement to her, even after decades of teaching. She could guess, though. Oliver Wood was not one to bottle up his emotions. His pleasant, open countenance and that melodious brogue combined to form a remarkably expressive mien which was ideal in a quidditch captain, and which she'd always admired in him. Today, the clear effort he was making to regulate expression spoke of the depths of his feeling – and why shouldn't it? There was surely little more difficult for a young mind to face than the boundlessly baffling prospect of life stretching out ahead, full of new trials and terrors – and all to be faced without the reassuring steadfastness of Hogwarts to come back to.

Wood was standing very still – too still, almost – and she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Do let me know how you get on, won't you?" He glanced up, smiling sadly, and nodded. "I'll be waiting eagerly for your owl."

"Thanks, Professor," he said again, his voice thick. He didn't seem to be capable of any more words.

"Now, run along. You don't want to miss the train."

"No." He turned back to the changing rooms and the exit, but stopped after a few steps and looked back. "By the way," he added, a sparkle of his usual easy manner sneaking back into his voice, "if the Gryffindor team could ever do with a bit of extra coaching, you know where to find me."

Her tightly controlled features twitched into what might have been a laugh. "I'll bear that in mind."

Wood nodded contentedly. "See you, then."

"Goodbye, Oliver."

He strode off the pitch – _his _pitch, she knew he would have called it – and for once she made no attempt to disguise her uncharacteristically melancholy sigh as she watched him go. There he went, another departing seventh year, taking with him yet another chunk of Hogwarts history. There would be others to take his place soon enough, but he would never truly leave, she knew. No, his voice would join the thousands of others that had passed through, adding a new layer to the fabric of the school, leaving his laughter in every tick step and his heart in every quaffle.

* * *

><p>AN: Another late update! The last few weeks have been unbelievably busy, but the term is now, thankfully, over - so I thought I'd write an end of term chapter. Hopefully it's not too fluffy. Thanks, as ever, for reading this far, and I'd love to know what you made of this installment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_October 1994, Puddlemere_

It was a cold, blustery late afternoon in October, and the skies were just beginning to darken. In the middle of Puddlemere United's half-empty lower west stand sat Susie Birch, chilled to the bone and hoping fervently that the snitch would show up soon. A glance at the scoreboard reminded her that they had been playing for almost two hours, and that the Puddlemere Reserves were leading the Appleby Arrows Reserves by 110 to 40. It was a good match and she really wanted to enjoy it, really wanted to, but it was just too _cold_.

Somewhere high above her, wearing his almost new robes of blue and gold – colours in which he bore an unsettling resemblance to a member of the Ravenclaw team – Wood was hovering round the posts on his treasured new Firebolt, which had been an end of school gift from his parents. She had come straight from work, so had missed the first half hour, and the first three goals Wood had let past him. She'd been kept late by her line editor's insistence that she rewrite her piece on a Ministry cauldron bottom report: apparently it hadn't been exciting enough.

Her train of thought was suddenly cut across by the conversation of a couple of men on the row in front of her.

"What do you make of this new keeper, then?" one asked the other.

"Fresh out of Hogwarts, is he?"

"I hear he was spotted while captaining Gryffindor and signed straight away."

The second man raised his eyebrows in interest. "Is that right?" He turned his gaze thoughtfully up towards the hoops that Wood was defending. "I can see why. He doesn't look half bad for such a young lad."

They fell silent for a few seconds, and, as they watched, the Arrows chasers turned towards the Puddlemere hoops in a sharp V-formation, passing the quaffle so quickly between them that it was almost too fast to see with the naked eye. Suddenly, a shot at the left hoop – deftly batted away with the tail of the new keeper's broom.

"He's quick," the first man commented, sounding impressed, and Susie felt a glow of pride. The wind was picking up, so, shivering, she leaned a little closer, the better to hear what they were saying. "He started a bit nervously, but the Arrows can't get past him now."

"I still can't believe how long it's taken them to find a half-decent reserve keeper," the second muttered, and they exchanged somewhat weary, knowing glances, the other nodding in agreement.

"And have you heard that they're not even playing house quidditch at Hogwarts this year?"

Susie couldn't help the small smile that slipped on to her lips at this: from their solemn voices, you'd think it heralded the end of the world. Wood's response to the news, of which he'd been informed by a letter from Angelina almost as soon as the school term had started, had been similar – only with a few more expletives.

A few scattered shouts prompted her to turn her attention back to the game, because both seekers had suddenly burst into action and were streaking shoulder-to-shoulder through the skies. A carefully aimed bludger knocked the Appleby seeker off course as he swerved to avoid it and, sensing victory, his Puddlemere counterpart stretched out her arm. Before Susie even knew what was happening, blue-gloved fingers had closed round the snitch and the home team had secured a resounding victory of 260 – 40. It was a hammering for the Arrows Reserves, all of whom looked decidedly glum as they landed to shake the opposition's hands.

Susie had risen to her feet to applaud the victory, and to herald her imminent escape from this icy stand. She was happy for Wood – truly, she was – but a cavernous, windy quidditch ground was hardly her ideal habitat, especially after a trying day at work, and the novelty of quaffles and bludgers soon wore off. They were due to go to his parents' house for dinner that evening, and she was already thinking lovingly of the roaring fire in the kitchen, and of a mug of hot, strong tea.

As the applause died down, a flash of blue descended from above and she turned to see Oliver beside her, still poised over his broom as he hugged her.

"You came!" he exclaimed.

"Your first home match? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

He was practically glowing with pride and excitement, though she suspected that she would never fully get used to seeing 'Wood' emblazoned across the back of blue robes in gold letters: she almost missed the old Gryffindor colours. He grinned, before pressing his lips to hers in a fleeting but affectionate kiss.

"Great match, wasn't it? If you wait here, I'll meet you afterwards – I won't be long."

"Ok," she said simply, but he had already kicked off from the ground to rejoin his jubilant teammates on the pitch, and she soon lost sight of him among the distant blue-robed figures.

With a resigned sigh, she nestled into her scarf and settled back into her seat. It was still freezing.

* * *

><p>Less than ten minutes later, Wood found her in the now empty stand cupping a tiny tongue of flame in her hands. For a moment, he simply had to stand and admire the magic: he would never have been able to do that without burning his fingers. As he watched, she became aware of his presence and extinguished the flame with a snap of her gloved fingers.<p>

"At last!" She rose to her feet and came towards him with a smile. Her tone was jovial, but the truth in her words was evident.

"Suze, you look frozen!"

"Not quite," she claimed, but didn't protest as he gathered her into his arms to warm her up.

"I'm glad you came, though. Great match, wasn't it?" The only reply was a slightly muffled but nonetheless encouraging murmur of assent. "Everything just seemed to come off well. It couldn't really have gone much better, except for that penalty early on..."

"I'm happy for you," she said sincerely. It was an unusually bland reply, though well-meant, and her smile somewhat wistful: it was the first signal of her mild impatience to penetrate his victor's euphoria.

"What's up?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Nothing," she assured him. "It's just been a long day at work."

He nodded in understanding. "How so?"

She hesitated for a moment, then replied with a slow shake of her head. "It can wait." She forced a brighter smile. "Now, all I want is to get out of the cold."

On cue, he took her hand, turned on the spot – and after a few suffocating seconds, they materialised in a damp, darkening country lane.

"It's raining," Susie observed dryly. "Why is it always raining?"

"We wouldn't want to disappoint you, would we?"

Wood, grinning, led her by the hand through the drizzle, casting his eye with a warm glow of familiarity over the cloud garlanded mountains and the dull, steel-grey loch. There was a cluster of granite houses huddled on the shore – including those of a few other magical families – but the Woods' farm was further up, nestled at the foot of the slope and largely hidden by trees. It was a long way from Susie's suburban upbringing.

They passed through the gate, and as they did so, she noticed that tell-tale shimmer of muggle repelling enchantments, the hallmark of a magical home. Beyond the spells surrounding it, the house was fairly unremarkable, with a stern, weather-beaten front of grey stone and a mossy slate roof. In this, Susie thought, it suited Wood down to the ground.

Still clutching her hand, he led her inside, into a cluttered, dimly-lit hallway heavy with the scent of rich home cooking.

"Is that you, Oliver?" The voice of a woman in late middle-age with an accent even thicker than her son's drifted from the kitchen. Immediately afterwards, she appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and grinning broadly. "And Susie too? Perfect. It's almost ready."

"Thanks, ma. We'll not be a minute."

His mother returned to the stove and Wood, after meeting Susie's eyes briefly, began to help her out of her coat; but once it had been hung neatly on a hook, he couldn't help slipping an arm round her waist to draw her closer. She tilted her face upwards and he gave her an obedient kiss, lingering over it with a manner, however, that spoke of more than mere habit or obligation.

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, head slightly askance, as if a new possibility had just occurred to him.

"Stay over tonight," he murmured, his tone rising beseechingly on the last syllable. The achingly intimate scent of her hair had swiftly forced his parents and post-match soreness out of his mind.

Susie let out a short sigh, instantly dulling his momentary flash of desire somewhat.

"I have to be at work early."

"I'll come to yours, then."

"I just can't tonight, sorry. Another time, though..." A second kiss: not that I don't want to, it clearly said. But she drew away and smoothed her hair down a little nervously before passing into the kitchen, where Wood heard his mother greet her enthusiastically. By the time he followed, they were already deep in a discussion about spells for thickening gravy, watched in vague bewilderment by his father, who had already installed himself expectantly at the head of the table. He met Wood's eye with a stiff nod.

"A'right, son?"

"A'right, dad?" He dropped into the seat adjacent to his father's.

"Good match?"

"Aye, not too bad. We won 260 – 40."

Though he never noticed it, his accent always grew a little stronger when he came home. As his father nodded appreciatively, his mother set a dinner plate in front of him and he became aware of Susie occupying the seat opposite his. Before tucking in, he flashed her an encouraging smile, and as she returned it he was left in no doubt as to the presence of a somewhat strained, distracted look in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before.

"How's work going, Susie?" his mother asked, taking up her knife and fork.

There was only the briefest of hesitations before she blandly answered, "fine," stretching her smile even further.

"Is it?"

Like her son, Jean Wood was not one to tread lightly around a subject. Oliver, who had inherited her honest, unflinching gaze, understood at once what she was doing, and knew to give her the space to do it. So, even as Susie let out another of her weary sighs, he resumed the masculine quidditch discussion at the other end of the table.

"We played quite well," he said as if there had been no break in the conversation, leaning in confidentially, but listening carefully for Susie's response.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "It's... it's not exactly what I thought it would be."

"You've got a decent set o' reserves coming through, then?" Faced with his life's three greatest joys – namely, his quidditch, his food, and his son – Archibald Wood was utterly oblivious to all else.

"Is it more difficult than you'd expected?" Jean's tone and demeanour were gently inquisitive.

"Aye, there are a fair few. We've got a couple o' great beaters, for example. They won us the match today."

"I'm not sure what I expected. But I had no idea that the Ministry's stranglehold on the _Prophet_ would be quite so firm. I try to be inventive and to do my job well, but I sometimes feel like I'm banging my head repeatedly against a brick wall..."

"But then the Arrows always have had abysmal reserves. They rely too much on their big first team players."

"I can see how that would be frustrating."

"And who can blame them? I mean, if you had a squad of internationals to choose from, would you leave them out?"

"More often than not, I just find myself rewording briefings from Ministry officials. There's not much room for embellishment, let alone comment."

"Ah, but rotation is the key! Just look at what happened to Montrose when McGregor was out for a few months last season."

"Perhaps you'll be more trusted to be creative when you've a bit more experience."

"That's a good point, actually. Their reserve seeker was atrocious."

"I hope you're right. But I can't help noticing that the most senior, the most trusted reporters are the ones who toe the Ministry line the most closely."

"What about your chasers, then? Are any o' them looking promising?"

"Just how much influence does the Ministry have at the _Prophet_, if you don't mind my asking? I must admit, it all sounds a bit sinister..."

"They're looking good, aye – but they've been playing together in the reserves for so long that I'm not sure how well they'd make the individual transition up to the first team."

"Sinister isn't quite the word I'd use. I mean, I've heard tales of what it was like during the time of You Know Who, and it's nowhere near that bad." She paused darkly. "But there's a definite unspoken rule that we have to portray the Ministry – this laughably inept and chaotic institution – as a beacon of clarity and justice. It's so frustrating. After everything that happened at the World Cup, for instance, we were _advised_ to be selective in our reporting so we wouldn't cause panic. The editor took no notice, of course, but Fudge didn't thank him for it."

Wood glanced up, unable to feign ignorance any longer. Even his father seemed to have picked up a little of what was being discussed on the other side of the table.

As she met Oliver's eyes, Susie gave him another of her somewhat careworn but nonetheless affectionate smiles.

"But," she finished, "all of that nonsense just makes it all the better to see this one doing so well."

"Yeah, well... you had all the luck right through school. It's definitely my turn."

After this, Jean steered the conversation carefully in a new direction and Susie's mood seemed to lighten a little. Oliver watched her fondly, but he couldn't help wondering why she hadn't told him about all of this sooner.

* * *

><p>Several hours and numerous helpings later, their small gathering began to disband: Susie bade the Woods goodnight and Oliver walked her to the door.<p>

"You don't have to keep things bottled up, you know," he told her.

She smiled vaguely back at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about." She lowered her eyes almost nervously, avoiding his gaze. "If you're having a tough time at work," he went on, "you don't have to keep it to yourself."

"I know... But you've been so focussed on your quidditch recently, and it's been going so well for you that I didn't want to worry you without reason."

Grinning fondly, he pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Don't be daft, Suze."

"But I didn't want to distract you. You always take these things so seriously."

"So what? Let me worry about you for once, rather than you always doing all the worrying. And definitely don't let quidditch get in the way."

She drew back, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you feeling ok? Because for a moment there, it sounded like you were saying that there are more important things than quidditch..."

"Bloody hell. Really?"

A smile flickered in her eyes, a smile that he hadn't seen all that much of recently, and its reappearance was heart-warming.

"Thanks," she said quietly, letting her hand linger on his arm for a few seconds and leaning in a little closer.

He couldn't help grinning. "What for?"

"No idea."

Her lips brushed his – then there was a loud crack, and before he had even opened his eyes, he knew that he was alone in the hallway.

* * *

><p>AN: As ever, thanks so much for reading! Reviews would be lovely. As I type, there is snow falling outside and fairy lights are twinkling happily behind me. I'm tempted to write something a little festive for next time. :) I hope you're all enjoying the holiday season!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_November 1995, London_

"I don't have to speak to him, do I?" Wood checked, stowing away his wand as Susie cast her eyes over his innocuous but classic combination of jeans and a t-shirt. "Because I'll just stand there like an idiot if he starts firing muggle house language at me..."

"I think that'll do," she decided. They had come straight from work: Susie from the news desk on which her voice was increasingly prevalent, Oliver from the Puddlemere first team's training session. He'd had to leave his broom behind. "And I'll deal with the estate agent, don't worry."

She took his hand, turned sharply on the spot, and they apparated next to a row of dustbins in a dark, narrow alleyway, from which they could hear rush hour traffic not far away.

"Well, this is charming," he commented after a moment of slightly awkward silence. "It's certainly got a lot of potential."

Susie grinned. "It's a muggle area. We have to be careful."

She made towards the street, but he held on to her hand and pulled her slowly back: the sidelong apparition had left them standing very close together, and he'd been enjoying the moment. Raising his free hand to the deliciously delicate, warm skin of her neck, he kissed her gently, revelling in her softness, and in the warmth of her lips. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling.

"Hello," he said quietly. He loved being this close to her: when he was alone, he thought of little else.

"Hello," she returned, blushing slightly. He moved to kiss her again, quite ready to get carried away, but this time she drew back. "Come on," she said brightly. "I told the estate agent to expect us any time after five and it's already quarter-past."

He stared after her in disbelief. How could she do that? How could she willingly break off such a glorious moment, and how could she possibly expect him to do the same? He'd been accused before – like every man, it seemed – of having a one-track mind, but a mind that could simultaneously focus on kissing and estate agents was beyond his comprehension.

Shaking his head with a sigh of frustration, he followed her out on to the street, and found himself standing on a narrow pavement overshadowed by high terraces and lit by the yellow glow of streetlamps. Cars were parked tightly on both sides of the road, but it was quiet, and here and there brick archways led to more dark, narrow alleyways. The whole street had been built in classic London brick, once pale, but blackened by centuries of the capital's dirt and smoke. If he'd read muggle books, as Susie had, he might have called it Dickensian. Some might have called it austere, but he liked it.

He followed Susie a little further along the street to where she had stopped at another of the alleyways.

"I think this is it..."

She led him on, under a brick archway, across a small paved courtyard, up a flight of steps, then another, and finally stopped at a front door from which scarlet paint was peeling feebly. It swung open immediately.

"Ah, I thought I'd heard you coming!"

Before them stood the estate agent, a small man with thinning hair, very large, white teeth, and an alarmingly shiny suit.

"Hi!" Susie said pleasantly, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Oh, that's no problem!" he insisted, casually and somewhat effeminately waving away her concern. "In fact, I've enjoyed the chance to get to know this delightful property a little better..."

Thus began the ceaseless stream of jargon-heavy salesmanship that continued as they were ushered through the front door. Thankfully, Susie appeared content to bear the brunt of the speeches about the "cosy kitchenette", "vintage decor and furnishings" and "bags of potential" that the flat apparently possessed.

Casting his eyes around, Wood's first impression was hardly overwhelmingly positive. A musty, damp smell filled his nostrils. The furniture was largely in dark mahogany and heavy pink drapes obscured each window. A glance down at his feet told him that the carpet was thick with dust. This was the flat that Susie had talked him into viewing, the flat formerly owned by an old muggle. It was, she had told him, remarkably inexpensive, and all of the furniture would be included. At the time, she'd made that sound like a good thing.

Susie was chattering away enthusiastically to the estate agent, her eyes bright with excitement, and he realised that she didn't plan to live anywhere but here: the viewing was merely a formality.

Wandering deeper into the flat, he peered cautiously into the two rooms leading off the main one, one of which was a poky bathroom. The second was the bedroom, full of more ancient mahogany and dusty drapes, but he paused in the doorway. At once, the prospect of living with Susie seemed very real for the first time, and he imagined a life in which she was the first and last thing he saw every day. As his gaze lingered on the bed, his mind travelled back to the few weeks that they had spent together at her parents' holiday cottage on the coast that summer. Images filled his mind of sunlight falling through open windows on to naked skin; of crumpled sheets; of tangled hair spread on the pillow...

"That bed will have to go." She came up behind him and let a tantalising hand rest at the base of his back. "I'm not sleeping anywhere near that." He grinned, suppressing an urge to kiss her again. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It could be nice. It'd need months of work before it was anywhere near habitable, though."

She frowned. "Months? No... A couple of antiques dealers for the worst of the furniture, a scourging charm here and there... And it is remarkably cheap. Maybe we should make an offer."

"An offer of what?"

"To buy it, numpty."

"Don't use your muggle jargon on me, Birch." Smiling, she gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and returned to her estate agent.

* * *

><p>Within a month, the flat was theirs, and they received the keys not long before Christmas with all the excitement of a young couple embarking on a new life together. Susie could hardly contain her glee as she unlocked the front door on the first day of their occupancy.<p>

"It's all ours!" she exclaimed again and again, twirling round the kitchen like an over-excited ballerina while Wood watched her with a contented smile.

Almost instantly, her carefully laid plans sprang into action. She had agreed to sell most of the old furniture to a local antiques dealer, who arrived with a van to take it all off their hands that very morning, leaving only the dining table and chairs, a writing bureau that she'd rather taken a fancy to, and the sagging but lovable sofa. As soon as his van had left, Susie's parents had arrived in another and proceeded to unload all of her possessions, including, importantly, her bed. Wood's parents had chosen the slightly less laborious option, packing broomsticks and furniture alike into a trunk that was considerably bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

By the time the sun had started to set late in the afternoon, Oliver and Susie finally had their new home entirely to themselves. A fire was flickering in the grate, there was a Firebolt standing contentedly in the corner, and Susie was making tea in the part of the long room that they'd come to know as 'the kitchen'.

Wood sank into the sofa with a satisfied sigh, ignoring the cloud of dust that rose as he did so. The once poky flat already felt more homely, and the homeliness was about more than just furniture: there was something infinitely pleasing in the sight of Susie's shoes next to his by the door, and in the sound of her bustling away in the background. Everything just felt _right_. Wasn't this was all of life boiled down to? Nest-building: a man and a woman together, creating a future? With Susie, he felt that he was tapping into something... something profound – only he wasn't quite sure what it was yet.

He glanced round as she padded across the carpet in her socks, bearing two mugs of steaming tea, and handed one to him.

"Thanks, Suze."

He shuffled along to make room for her on the sofa, but she stood with her back to the fire, casting her gaze over their day's work and cupping the mug daintily in her hands. Her tired eyes were still shining with the excitement of it all.

"Isn't this lovely?" she said.

Smiling, he watched her blow gently across the surface of her tea to cool it down. "Yes, it is."

"I'd like to try stripping some of this wallpaper tonight," she told him. "I found a spell for it in a book called _Magical Home Solutions_. I don't suppose it's very difficult." She took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Maybe blue would be a good colour for the walls: pale blue. And after that we need to take these carpets up. The floorboards beneath are in quite good condition: if we clean them up a bit and put a few rugs down, this room would look so much nicer."

"You and your plans..."

Their eyes met. "I want everything to be perfect," she explained, almost defensively.

"Everything is perfect."

She took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Not quite." Before he could say any more, she had drawn out her wand. "There's something we're forgetting..."

As he watched, she flicked her wand delicately towards the mantelpiece and a string of twinkling fairy lights grew from the end of it, draping themselves elegantly around the fireplace. He couldn't help but grin.

"Where did you learn that spell?" he wondered.

"What else do you think Ravenclaws do at Christmas?"

Smiling vaguely, she conjured garlands of holly and mistletoe, candles and ribbons, before turning her attention to a forgotten hat stand by the door. Before his eyes, it began to grow branches, from which gleaming pine needles soon began to sprout; golden baubles blossomed out of nowhere and tinsel wove its way through the branches. Then, with a final swish and flick of Susie's wand, the tree floated gently towards them and settled contentedly on the floor by the sofa.

"_Now_ everything is perfect," she told him, with a small smile that was almost smug.

At last, she nestled into him on the sofa, tucking her legs up in front of her as he draped an affectionate arm round her shoulders. They said no more, simply sipping their tea in contented silence and enjoying the peaceful crackling of the fire.

Susie let her hand rest on Wood's leg – there, just above his knee. She seemed to think nothing of it, but there was something about the weight of her hand that wouldn't let him think of anything else.

"Suze..."

"Hmm?"

She turned her head slightly – and froze when she caught the look in his eyes.

For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other. At once, she had that slightly shy, secretive look of a girl who has just been struck by an idea, but who won't admit it. Wood smiled slightly, knowing where this usually led. Slowly, Susie leaned in to kiss him, and it became absolutely clear that there would be no wallpaper removal taking place that evening. On cue, they drew back simultaneously and carefully placed their mugs on the floor before melting back into each other. Susie seemed to soften at his touch, leaning into his arms with a small sigh. His lips found hers again, and, as her shirt rose to expose a little of her waist, his fingers stumbled across the unexpected warmth and intimacy of bare skin. Suddenly, he was aching for her.

"Now?" he whispered into her ear.

With a small, knowing smile, she rose to her feet and, taking him by the hand, led him into their new bedroom.

Hours later, Oliver would lie still, with his eyes closed and Susie's head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. She was already falling asleep: he could hear the slow, regular rhythm of her breathing, and feel that gentle rise and fall of her chest that came with each breath. One day, he thought vaguely to himself, hovering on the edge of sleep, he would look back on these days as the best of his life and begin to understand just how happy he had been. For now, he was too busy enjoying himself to think about it too much.

Outside, beyond the dusty window and the hastily drawn curtains, the night sky was heavy and black, dimming even London's countless streetlights. A storm was coming, a storm that would shake the foundations of their every happiness. But for now, as Oliver drifted gradually into sleep, drowsily content and blissfully unaware of the outside world, there was nothing to fear.

"Merry Christmas, Suze," he whispered into her ear. "Welcome home."

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading - and thanks in advance for the reviews you're about to leave me. ;) I hope you enjoyed this. It's certainly left me feeling happily festive. Merry Christmas, everyone!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Before I begin, I'd like to address an issue that a few of my charming reviewers have raised upon several occasions: namely, that things seem a bit rushed. It may be helpful to note the dates in itallicised dates at the beginning of each chapter. They are included for a reason. ;) Also, a word of warning: this chapter takes a few more liberties than usual with JKR's excellent books. I simply couldn't resist; hopefully it's not too outrageous. So, without further ado...

**Chapter 9**

_December 1997, Chudley_

"Honestly, did you see their beater's face? He nearly fell off his bloody broom..."

The aptly named Toby Mead, chaser for Puddlemere United, chuckled contentedly and took a swig from his bottle of butterbeer. Wood exchanged knowing glances with Ivy Dawson, another of the chasers, and Paul Long, a beater.

"You know it's your turn to take him home tonight, don't you?" he reminded Paul in an undertone.

"Wood, you haven't had nearly enough to drink, mate," Toby announced, slinging an arm around the keeper's neck. "Let me get you another one..."

That afternoon's hammering of the Chudley Cannons had sent Puddlemere into the top half of the league – for a little while, at least – and Toby had made a beeline for the nearest wizarding pub, the Chudley Arms, to celebrate their victory. For the last few hours, they had watched him get steadily drunker, and it was still only just gone eight in the evening. The mood, however, was far from jubilant.

"No thanks," he said firmly, removing the arm of the slurring chaser from his shoulder.

"Well you're a barrel of laughs, aren't you?"

Wood hardly heard, struck into a shocked silence by someone who had just entered the bar. The red-haired, freckled figure was extremely familiar, and gave him an inexplicably icy knot of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

"I've got to go," he told him teammates.

Toby cried out in protest but was shushed gently by Ivy, who prised his bottle out of his fingers. "What's wrong with you?" he went on, speaking far too loudly. "Scared You Know Who'll get you if you stay out too late?"

"That's enough, Mead," Ivy snapped.

Paul gave Wood a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll make sure he gets home ok. See you, mate."

"Thanks, Paul."

Wood left his friends and turned his eyes back to the lanky red-head, who was smiling now with mingled recognition and relief. Taking hold of his arm, Wood steered him firmly back towards the door.

"I don't know what the hell you think you're playing at, Weasley."

Ron blinked stupidly. "What?"

"Come with me."

They fell silent as a pair of bearded old wizards passed them in the doorway, then stepped out into the snowy, quiet street.

"It's nice to see you too, mate," Ron said, massaging his arm where Wood had been holding it.

"We need to get you out of sight," he said simply. Wood caught hold of Ron's arm again and turned on the spot, taking the bewildered Weasley with him. They came out at the top of a steep flight of steps that led to a red front door.

"Where have you brought me?" Ron asked, uncomfortably aware that he had had little say in the matter.

"My flat," Wood answered curtly and, producing a key from his coat pocket, he let them both in.

Once the door had closed behind him, Ron suddenly felt safer and more secure than he had in months. The tiny flat, with walls painted a welcoming shade of pale blue, was warmed and softened by the flickering glow of the fire. The neatly drawn curtains and homely smell of cooking set him instantly at ease. Wood left him standing by the door and went to talk to a woman who was standing at the stove. She looked vaguely familiar – hadn't she been a Hogwarts prefect at one point? Perhaps in Ravenclaw? The mere thought of Hogwarts made him anxious, though, and he tried to put it out of his mind.

"And you brought him here?" she suddenly hissed sharply, turning round to look at him. Ron pretended not to hear, or to notice how angry she sounded. Why had Wood even brought him here?

"Suze," Wood was saying quietly, one hand resting reassuringly on her waist. He held her gaze for a few moments until she seemed to relent.

"Fine," she said, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "bloody Gryffindors".

"So what were you playing at?" Wood asked, addressing Ron again, though with less anger and anxiety in his voice this time. "You can't just wander happily into a pub..."

"Well why not? I have to stay somewhere." There was a brief, uncomfortable pause, and he tried to explain. "I've been constantly on the move for a while. I had to apparate quickly to get away from some snatchers and... and that was the first place I could think of. My dad used to take me to the matches there."

"Don't you realise the danger you're in? Everyone thinks you're with Potter."

Ron looked suddenly sullen, as only a teenage boy can. "I was," he said in a low voice.

Wood and Susie exchanged cautious glances, both understanding that there was more to this situation than they would be able to find out at once.

Wood let out a weary sigh and ran a hand through his short hair. "You'll have to stay here for tonight at least. You can sleep on the sofa."

"Thanks," Ron said simply, his relief at the prospect of shelter overriding his awkwardly growing consciousness that his presence here was putting this couple at risk.

"This is Susie, by the way," Wood added, and she flashed Ron a small smile that did not rise to her eyes. He remembered her more clearly now, in particular an episode that had taken place not far from the Shrieking Shack, when he and Hermione – _Hermione_. His heart sank: everything seemed to remind him of her.

"Nice to meet you," he said politely, vainly attempting to put abandoned friends out of his mind. "Thanks for having me."

"Are you hungry?" she asked. His spirits instantly rose a little. "There's a sort of chicken casserole, a few potatoes and beans... It should be enough to feed three of us."

"Thank you, that sounds great." He paused. "I can hardly remember the last time I had a decent home-cooked meal. The camp food that Hermione makes –" There she was again; he broke off abruptly.

Once again, his hosts exchanged significant glances.

"Where have you been all this time?" Wood asked. "Did you even go back to Hogwarts at all this year?"

Ron shook his head. "I can't really say."

"But you were with Harry and Hermione?"

A slow, hesitant nod. He looked awkwardly at his feet.

Susie spoke next. "Is it worth asking why you're no longer with them?" Her voice was mildly unsettling: it seemed to hint at a sharp, glittering intelligence that was very different from Wood's burly honesty. She reminded him a little of McGonagall, and he didn't know how to answer. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous seemed the argument with Harry that had preceded his sudden departure. For a moment, he lingered over his memories of the tent that had become their home, and pictured the painfully familiar figure of Hermione as she leaned over a book in her lap.

Susie watched him expectantly for a few seconds before turning back to the stove with a knowing nod. "Just leave your rucksack by the door for now," she instructed, returning to a less difficult topic. "This is ready to be served."

Ron did as he was told, before slipping into a chair opposite Wood at the dining table. The meal that Susie placed before him looked and smelt delicious, with the same hearty, warming quality as Hogwarts food, but he felt distinctly awkward as they began to eat in silence. He couldn't escape the feeling that he shouldn't be here, that it was unbelievably selfish to be taking advantage of his hosts' domestic comfort and security.

"How are things?" he asked hesitantly, desperate to break the silence.

"Difficult," Wood said frankly. "But we're better off than most."

Ron said nothing, sensing that Wood would explain, but it was Susie who spoke next.

"It's becoming increasingly difficult to carry on as we always have done. There's not much security to be had."

Ron swallowed uncomfortably: this was a familiar story. She continued.

"More and more ordinary witches and wizards are being requested to submit to questioning about their blood status. It's only the muggle-borns at the moment, but we've got no idea how far this is going to go." She hesitated; Wood carried on.

"Susie's father is a muggle, and her mother lives as one. Her blood status is far from safe, and if she's summoned for questioning there's every chance of her wand being confiscated."

"But there are a great many people in the same situation – and worse," Susie said quickly. "I'm relatively lucky. At the moment, my editor is prepared to vouch for me, but the _Prophet_ is gradually being put under more and more pressure to follow the Ministry line. No one knows how long we'll be able to go on as we are."

Her tone was low and ominous. Those angry days in the tent seemed increasingly secure and luxurious. Ron glanced at Wood. "At least we've still got quidditch to keep us sane," he said lightly, but he knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it had been a mistake. Wood's face darkened.

"Have we?" There were a few seconds of unbearable silence. "Many of the league teams are being decimated by the new blood laws. One of our chasers, Toby Mead, is muggle born, and he knows that his days of quidditch are numbered. He's started drinking. But there's more than that. Some of the teams – thankfully not yet Puddlemere – have been bought out by powerful and influential death eaters, and for the first time in generations there's a growing problem with match fixing. You notice it every so often: a keeper letting in a goal that he could have saved; a seeker who's been instructed deliberately not to catch the snitch..."

Ron felt that his heart couldn't sink any lower. "That's horrible," he murmured, his voice hollow. He'd always thought of quidditch as one of life's most beautiful constants.

"And what about you, Ron?" Susie asked. "How are things with you?" She continued before he could even phrase an answer. "Because whatever Wood might have told you, he's put us all in danger by bringing you here, displaying the sort of misguided valour for which you Gryffindors are so often praised. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need to, but I'd at least like to know why we're endangering ourselves for your sake."

Her words were painfully true, and Ron attempted to string together a clumsily worded explanation. "To be honest," he told them, "I'm only here at all because I've made a bloody stupid mistake. Me and Hermione went with Harry because he had something to do – something for Dumbledore. He didn't ask us to go with him: we just did. It wasn't going as well as I'd thought it would and – and me and Harry had this big argument and then I left."

Susie's expression was guarded, but Wood looked unimpressed. "You left because you had an argument?"

"I know it's stupid. I regretted it straight away, but by the time I'd gone back they'd already left. That was about a week ago, and I've been wandering hopelessly ever since, trying to get back to them."

"You bloody idiot, Weasley."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you at risk, I really didn't. I just don't know what to do."

They sat eating in silence, although no one was particularly hungry any longer. Oliver and Susie shared a growing sense of unease, a sense that something important was unravelling before their very eyes. At length, Susie spoke.

"Ron, what is it that Harry has to do?"

"Before Dumbledore died, he sort of left Harry a task to do: he had to find... to find something. Only Dumbledore didn't say what it was or where it might be. We thought we were getting somewhere, but then we hit a brick wall. We were left with a few ridiculous hints and clues that just didn't make any sense..." Frowning, he pushed the remainder of his meal irritably round the plate.

Wood looked troubled. "But if Harry doesn't know what he's doing, and everyone's relying on Harry..."

"That's what I said."

Later that evening, after a few hours of trying to distract themselves by talking about quidditch, they prepared to settle down for the night. There was a feeling of battening down the hatches, Ron thought: while Wood searched for spare pillows and blankets, he noticed Susie locking and bolting the door firmly, and performing the same protective charms that Hermione had placed around their campsite.

"There you go," Wood announced, dropping a heap of blankets on the sofa. "That'll be enough for you, won't it?"

Ron didn't answer. He had fallen silent, and was standing strangely still in front of the fire, fixated by a picture on the mantelpiece. It was a photograph of the famous cup-winning Gryffindor side of Wood's seventh year and Ron's third, posing triumphantly on the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Wood was kneeling at the front, clutching the trophy and grinning from ear to ear, with Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell on either side of him. Behind them stood Fred and George Weasley, flanking Harry Potter. The thirteen-year-old seeker, gleaming Firebolt in hand, was laughing. Ron had turned very pale.

"It was a gift from McGonagall when I left Hogwarts," Wood explained. "Madame Hooch took it just after we'd beaten Slytherin. That was the best team I've ever played with."

Ron nodded wordlessly. Bidding him goodnight, they withdrew to their room, but Susie paused in the doorway and looked back, her eyes softening with pity for the first time that evening. Ron had collapsed onto the sofa now, with his head in one hand and the Gryffindor team photograph in the other. The last thing she saw was his hunched, motionless shoulders, while his brothers, his friends and Harry went on waving up at him.

* * *

><p>AN: As ever, my thanks go out to all of you who are sticking with this. I really appreciate your support, and would love to hear what you made of this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_December 1997, London_

The next morning, all was quiet. That is, all was just as quiet as it usually was. Muggles in their cars were still rumbling along the street below, and she could hear Wood's deep, slow breathing from the other side of the bed. All seemed to be well for the moment at least, and she wondered vaguely whether last night's precautions had been necessary after all.

Susie rolled over slowly, trying carefully not to wake him. Even in sleep, he looked worried, with his brow deeply furrowed and the corners of his mouth curved into a frown. Something had changed last night, she knew. Ron's arrival had made everything seem much more real, and much more like a war in which one side was fighting the other. They both knew that the simple act of offering Ron shelter had transformed them from indifferent bystanders into opponents of You Know Who, and that there was no going back. The knowledge was frightening, yes – she would not deny it – but also strangely liberating.

As she watched him, Wood stirred gently and his eyes, unusually alert, looked straight into hers. Perhaps he hadn't been asleep after all.

"What's up?" he asked.

She didn't say anything, but shuffled closer to him, drawing comfort from the familiar warmth of his body and nestling her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, slipping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Not really."

"Me neither."

"Everything's different now, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered with his usual frankness. "Yes, it is. But we'll be all right."

"Really?" Although she could not see his face, there was a note in his voice that betrayed a faint smile. "Course we will. I've got you to look after me, haven't I?"

"I thought it was supposed to be you looking after me."

"Nah, you're miles better at spells. What could I do against You Know Who? I'd just have to grab my broom and fly at him really quickly and hope I had the element of surprise."

Now she was smiling too.

* * *

><p>"Do you have any idea how to find them?"<p>

An hour had passed. Wood was sitting opposite Ron, with Susie standing anxiously behind his chair. She'd made a pot of coffee and had half-heartedly suggested breakfast, but no one was particularly hungry.

"I was thinking," Ron said, "that it might be better if I tried to search on my own, rather than wasting loads of time trying to find Harry and Hermione again." His hoarse voice and the grey bags under his eyes suggested that he had lain awake all night coming to this conclusion. "They'll have covered their tracks well. If You Know Who can't find them, I don't stand a chance." His voice betrayed bitter disappointment. Susie and Wood exchanged glances.

"We've been doing some thinking too," Wood said. "Wherever you go, you can't stay here forever, and we thought – well, Susie thought that it might be a good idea to send you on your way with a batch of... of..."

"...Polyjuice Potion," Susie finished for him.

Ron's eyebrows rose in interest.

"Making it from scratch takes ages," she said, "but you can buy all of the ingredients pre-prepared, if you know where to find them, and I'm pretty sure I can remember enough of Snape's seventh year Advanced Potions classes to have a decent stab at making some." She paused. "Of course, its use is not entirely legal, but..."

"And if you were to look like me," Wood went on, ignoring Susie's last few words, "it would make things a lot simpler for you. Unless you run into some die-hard Puddlemere fans."

Ron almost smirked. The mood felt very different this morning: still serious, and with an edge of darkness, but also with a new sense of purpose and excitement. The Polyjuice plan had encouraged him immensely; it felt like something Hermione might have thought up.

So, that evening, Susie came home from work via a Diagon Alley apothecary, and Ron found himself at the heart of a very familiar scene. There was a cauldron simmering on the fire, and an ancient, second (or maybe third or fourth)-hand copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ was propped up against an armchair. It was late: Susie had been working for hours, her cheeks flushed with the heat of the fire. Wood had long since grown bored of watching the cauldron, and was lounging on the sofa with a copy of _Which Broomstick_.

"I think it's just about there," Susie suddenly announced, prompting both of her companions to sit up in interest. She ran her finger down the page of instructions, checking to see that she'd done all that was required. "There's just one thing left to do."

"What's that?" Wood asked. "Bloody hell, Suze!" He raised a hand to his head suddenly: without warning, she had reached up and pulled out three of his short, brown hairs. She sprinkled them into the cauldron, which bubbled and turned a vivid shade of scarlet.

"Well, look at that," she observed with a tired smile.

Ron grinned. "So that's what colour Wood is?"

"Gryffindor to the core." Susie cast a brief glance at Wood, who looked quietly delighted.

Reaching for a ladle, she put a little of the potion into a mug. "It's still hot, but we have to test it."

Ron held out a hand, but she hesitated. "Maybe I should try it first – I can't guarantee that it will work..."

"Rubbish." Ron took the cup from her before she could protest and rose to his feet. "I trust you," he assured her, raising the cup to his lips.

"Just a drop!" she warned. "We don't want you looking like Wood for too long."

Wood himself had shifted to the very edge of his seat and, with his tightly clasped hands resting on his knees, looked intrigued. He had never even heard of Polyjuice Potion until today – let alone witnessed its effects – having dropped Potions as soon as he possibly could. Even Susie had only ever studied the potion in theory, and was watching anxiously.

Taking Susie's advice, Ron dipped his finger in the scarlet potion and brushed a tiny drop of it on the tip of his tongue. It took effect almost instantly in a manner that was grotesque to behold. His skin rippled loosely, his eyes bulged; his whole essence seemed to shudder. Almost before they knew what was happening, a second Oliver Wood stood before them in Ron Weasley's clothes. For a few moments, all they could do was stare at him in utter bewilderment. Hesitantly, Susie approached him with an outstretched hand and gently touched his cheek.

"Incredible," she murmured. Ignoring the new Wood's awkwardness, she touched his hair, his ears, his shoulders, before running her fingers down the length of his arms to his hands, which she turned over several times and examined closely. "Truly remarkable..." she concluded, casting a glance at the wide-eyed original. "If not for the clothes, I wouldn't be able to tell you apart."

Wood got slowly to his feet and approached his doppelganger with a mixture of caution and awe. The physical act of seeing himself as if through another's eyes was too unsettling to warrant any description. Lost for words, he looked into his own eyes for a few terrifying moments before turning sharply back to Susie.

"Full marks!" he said, opting for irony because sincerity was just too strange. "Maybe it wasn't a fluke after all, you coming top of the year in final year Potions."

She smiled vaguely, but her eyes were soon drawn back to Ron. "How does it feel to have the body of someone else?" she asked.

"Not bad, actually. He's in much better shape than I am." The two Woods exchanged grins.

Then, before their eyes, Ron began to change again. For a moment, a red-headed, freckled Wood stood before them.

"That was quick," Ron commented as the last of his facial features eased into place.

"The larger the dose, the longer the effects will last." Susie was watching him closely with a mixture of suspicion and concern. "But do you feel ok? Are there any unexpected side effects?"

"None at all."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And how many times have you used Polyjuice Potion before?"

Ron avoided her eyes, looking slightly sheepish. "Once or twice."

"I thought so." She tutted in a very prefect-like fashion. "You seemed to deal with it remarkably well. You might have mentioned that, Ron."

Wood looked intrigued. "When?"

"Well, there was this one time in second year..."

* * *

><p>Around midday the next day, Susie and Wood – or someone who looked like Wood, at least – apparated into a snowy country lane. The first thing they noticed was the quiet: there was no nearby traffic here.<p>

"You're in Yorkshire," she informed him, "North Yorkshire. I came here once on a school trip before Hogwarts. About half a mile further along this road, there's a little village where you can take your pick of pubs and B&B's."

The familiar features were written into a distinctly unfamiliar frown, and Susie was disappointingly reminded that, regardless of the potion-induced excitement, it didn't really matter where Ron went. It didn't matter whether she accompanied him, or who he looked like: his prospects looked equally unpromising, either way. Even if his ill-fated solitary search should be remotely successful, it would be of no use if he couldn't find Harry. It all seemed so difficult, she thought bitterly. If only there were something concrete to fight against, and something definite that they could do to help! She couldn't escape the feeling that Ron's brief stay with them had been more of a hindrance than anything.

"This is as good as anywhere," Ron said blandly. Apparently the same problems that were occupying her mind were troubling him.

"Would you like me to walk into the village with you?"

"If you like."

They set off through the snow at a not too urgent pace, in spite of the cold.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

He sighed deeply; his breath met the icy air with a flash of steam. "There's not much I can do. I suppose I'll just find somewhere to stay, lie low for a few days and get my thoughts in order."

"If there's anything I can do..." Her voice trailed off and the offer hung in the air for a moment. Ron didn't answer: they both knew there was nothing she could do.

They walked on without saying any more, each silently contemplating the future. Soon, the village's outlying cottages came into view, and they entered the sleepy streets of what had once been a bustling market town. On the high street, the owner of the largest inn was just opening his doors, and a warm yellow glow emanated from the steamed-up windows of the tea room opposite, framed by the twinkling of coloured Christmas lights. Susie smiled: with all the activity of the last few days, she'd almost forgotten that Christmas was coming.

"That'll do nicely," Ron decided, nodding towards the tea room. "Mum always says everything looks brighter after a cup of tea."

"Good idea." Susie nodded encouragingly. "I'll say goodbye to you here, then."

For the first time that morning, Ron returned her smile. "Thank you," he said. "For letting me stay, for the potion, for coming with me this far..."

"It's been a pleasure. I only wish we could have done more." There was a bitter note of disappointment in her voice that she could not hide.

"I know you weren't overly pleased to see me at first. Who could blame you? And I know that you've risked more than you're letting on by helping me, but I'll never forget this. One day, if I can, I'll return the favour."

Her eyes softened affectionately. "You don't have to return anything."

"But I will anyway." He held out a hand for her to shake, but she pulled him into a hug. He had awoken an almost maternal instinct in her: an instinct to protect him and to be kind to him.

"Good luck, Ron," she whispered into Wood's ear. "If ever you're in trouble, you know where to find us."

"Thanks, Susie."

Then, shooting her a last, grateful smile, he walked away. A bell jangled as he opened the tea room door. Susie simply stood there for a moment, still smiling, watching in vague amusement as the sudden entry of a good-looking young man sent the old woman behind the counter into a flurry of excitement. Wearing a small, thoughtful smile, she walked on along the high street, out of the village and into the snow covered countryside. The usually blustery moors were silent and still. When she was certain that she was alone, she disapparated.

The flat was surprisingly busy upon her return.

"Hey, Susie!" she heard before she had even closed the door behind her, recognising Bella's rich tones.

As she shook the snow off her boots, she took in the scene: Bella was balanced on the arm of a chair that held a typically serene Michael; Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were squeezed on the sofa; Fred or George Weasley was leaning on the mantelpiece, grinning; and in the middle of it all stood Wood, looking rather pleased with himself.

"You've been busy," she commented, instantly cheered by the sight of so many friendly faces. "One more Weasley and a Potter and you'd have a half-decent quidditch team here. Not to mention a couple of brains to keep the score."

Michael flashed her a warm smile as her eyes came to rest on the pair from Ravenclaw.

"I thought I'd get a few people together," Wood explained while she tugged off her scarf and hung up her coat.

"We hear you've had another Gryffindor keeper staying with you," the former beater said casually, as if the event was nothing out of the ordinary.

Nodding, she knelt by Michael's chair with her back to the fire and rubbed her icy fingers together to warm them. "That's right... George?"

"Fred."

"Sorry."

"That's all right."

"Did you see him off?" Wood asked

All seven faces turned eagerly towards her. "I did," she answered. "He's deep in the country now. As we speak, he's sitting in a tea room, looking remarkably like the keeper he replaced and being flirted with by old ladies, I imagine."

"What's he going to do?" Angelina asked.

"I don't think even he knows that."

Susie's reply was met with an uncomfortable silence. Even Fred seemed unusually quiet, and she realised that she had never before seen one Weasley twin without the other. She wondered vaguely whether they had to be together for the jokes to flow.

"Would someone mind putting the kettle on?" she asked hesitantly. "My hands could do with warming up..."

"I'll get it," Bella said instantly, leaping to her feet. Without a word, Wood sat on the floor beside Susie and took her hands between his to warm them. She held his gaze for a moment, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you all?" she asked, looking around at the gathered friends.

"I spoke to Wood this morning," Katie began, "and then to Alicia, and we ran into Angelina, who brought Fred..."

"And I thought we'd need a few more cultured minds to stop it all descending into quidditch chat," Wood put in, "so I popped round to Michael's and Bella was already there."

She nodded. "So it was a string of remarkable coincidences?"

"A string of carefully engineered coincidences," said Michael, smiling knowingly, and Susie held his gaze fondly for a moment: it had been far too long since she'd seen him.

"Fred was just on the verge of sharing some big news when you got back," Wood said, and everyone turned expectantly to Fred – including Bella, from the kitchen.

"Basically," he said, "if anyone feels compelled to fight by certain recent events, I know how you can." He paused dramatically, and they leaned in closer with an air of conspirators. "Last time You Know Who was at large, Dumbledore formed a group to stand against him and his Death Eaters. It was called the Order of the Phoenix. It still exists today, even if it's not as strong as it once was. My parents are members. Me and George are members, and we're always recruiting. There's a group at Hogwarts too that some of you already know of: Dumbledore's Army. Potter started it in the same year as we left."

"Wait," Michael said, "you used the word 'army'. Is it really coming to that? Are we facing an actual battle?"

He had voiced what all of them were thinking.

"We don't know," Fred replied, "but there's a feeling within the Order that You Know Who will try to seize complete power, and that the only way to stop him will be by standing in the way with our wands in our hands."

Susie felt a surge of fear and excitement: it was stirring stuff.

"Is this a battle that we can win?" Alicia asked, understandably hesitant.

"Again, we don't know. A lot of our hopes are pinned on... on our seeker." Fred glanced at Wood. "Did you say that things aren't going well for him?"

Wood simply shook his head darkly.

"But it's encouraging to know that Dumbledore had a plan," Susie said brightly. "Even if it's not going well, that suggests that he knew of a way to defeat You Know Who, and that your seeker's at the heart of it. We have to buy him as much time as he needs to do what he has to do."

Angelina spoke up next. "And it doesn't matter how well or badly things are going – we have to put up a fight."

"Exactly," Susie agreed. "We can't just surrender everything we believe in without a struggle."

"Careful, Susie," Michael said. "You're starting to sound like a Gryffindor." Only he seemed to have retained his usual cool demeanour while the others had been growing increasingly animated.

"This isn't just about Gryffindor." They all looked over at Bella as she spoke, still busy with the tea. "Most ordinary witches and wizards might be quietly accepting things at the moment, but there is a limit to what a person can endure. They'll fight when they have to." She looked up almost defiantly. "They'll have to – and why wouldn't they? It's their world too."

* * *

><p>AN: Many, many thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far! It's always rewarding to read your comments, especially those that pick out things which could be improved. I couldn't make my mind up about this chapter, but finally decided to post it anyway. It would be interesting to see whether your opinions are in line with mine. As ever, thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_May 1998, London_

Spring that year had been fittingly grey, Susie observed. She was watching the sun set from the kitchen window, though there was little to be seen but for a slightly pink patch of cloud beyond the familiar London skyline. Even now that the summer months were upon them, the sun could do little more than peer hazily, reluctantly through the clouds for a moment or two.

Times were hard. Thankfully, Wood was one of the relatively few ordinary wizards whose career was still blossoming. Although it was the teams owned by death eaters, and not Puddlemere, that had been most successful in the league, there was to be a World Cup played in Iceland that summer, and he had been called up to the Scottish squad as a reserve keeper.

Susie's career, by comparison, had long since ceased to move in a vaguely positive direction. She had recently been forced to take a substantial pay cut: it was all part of the Ministry's new blood status employment regulations, and her editor had been left with no choice but to comply. She was lucky still to have her job, though she could not know how long that would last. Kingsley Shacklebolt had warned her that the Ministry would soon be summoning witches and wizards of uncertain blood status for questioning, including her; and when they'd last been at the Burrow, it had been made clear that the Order's safe houses were open to her when she needed them. Lupin had already volunteered to be her secret keeper. She smiled slightly at the memory, at the recollection of her former teacher's tired but affectionate smile across the Weasleys' kitchen table. They had become regulars at the Burrow ever since Fred had invited them for Christmas dinner, and she had become more fond of her old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher than ever.

She jumped as a brusque knock at the door suddenly interrupted her reverie, feeling instantly anxious. She hadn't been expecting visitors. Instinctively closing her fingers around her wand, she went cautiously to the door.

She opened it to see a tall, black-haired young man, built like a chaser and wearing long black robes, which were open at the front to reveal a creased suit and a tie loosely knotted over an unbuttoned collar. There was no question as to his identity, and her grip on her wand tightened. His heavy features stretched into a darkly sparkling smile as he saw her.

"I thought I'd find you here, Birch."

A strange flutter of excitement rose within her: a flutter of memory that stirred long forgotten sensations.

"What do you want, Flint?"

"Call me Marcus, please. We're old friends, aren't we, you and I? I just thought I'd pop round for a chat. Can I come in?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past her into the flat and she eyed him guardedly: he was the last person she'd expected to see.

He hadn't changed at all. He was still a little taller than Wood, but not as broad – or as good looking. She'd had a crush on him once, though, back in fifth year, and the word at the time had been that he'd fancied her too. There had been a spot of flirtatious chat at the library counter, once, and a few significant glances across the great hall – not to mention a brushing of hands outside the Potions classroom. It had been more than nothing, but not quite something. She had soon been distracted by O.W.L.s, and he by more attractive sixth year girls.

"Nice little place, this," he commented, nudging the old sofa with his foot. "Is your smug git of a boyfriend at home?"

His tone was jovial, but it was no secret that he and Wood had always despised each other.

"Unfortunately not," she revealed, "because I know he'd be delighted to see you."

"How are things, Susie?"

"Marvellous, thank you, Marcus."

"Work going well?" She hesitated, betraying at once that he'd put his finger on a raw nerve. "I hear your salary has been cut. I was at the _Prophet_ office just now and the place is abuzz with news of the Gringotts break-in today – but you're not there."

"I'm only working part-time at the moment," she explained stiffly.

"And why is that? Everything seemed to be going so well for you. I couldn't open my morning paper without seeing your name."

She didn't answer.

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment, before stating, "I'm working for the Ministry now."

"Naturally. But somewhat unimaginative, I must say."

"I'm a blood historian."

There was a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach, but she tried to stand tall as he approached her slowly.

"Do you know what that means?"

She met his eyes bravely. "I think I could make an educated guess."

"One of the cases I've been assigned is yours, and it's a difficult one." Still, he came slowly towards her. "Usually, you'd have been called straight in for questioning, but I thought we'd see if we could work this out between ourselves."

"There is nothing to work out."

"Then you won't mind coming into the office with me now and handing over your wand."

An icy claw seemed to grip her heart: had it really come to that? She wondered how quickly she would be able to escape to the Burrow. "I have nothing to hide," she declared, though they both knew that she was bluffing.

Flint grinned. "Right. So are you deliberately disregarding your muggle father? And not to mention your mother..."

"My pure-blood mother," she pointed out.

"Your pure-blood squib of a mother," he corrected, now standing uncomfortably close, "who has forfeited her right to pure-blood status by choosing to live as a muggle. That doesn't reflect awfully well on you, now, does it?"

She stood very still. There must be a way out of this, she thought; there must be a way to get rid of him. Perhaps she could hex him before he had time to reach for his wand? No: too risky.

While she stood there silently, still clutching her wand, he raised a hand to her cheek. She couldn't repress the shiver than ran through her when his fingers brushed her neck.

"I thought," he said quietly, "that we might be able to come to some sort of agreement."

She swallowed uncomfortably, his intentions beginning to dawn on her. "An agreement?" she repeated hesitantly.

"I could sort out your blood status for you. You could keep your wand and your job and your nice little flat, but I'd need something in return."

Her initial reaction was repulsion – but there was something else lingering beneath the surface of her consciousness, and she allowed herself to meet his gaze. He was as smooth as ever, she observed, and still attractive, still with that dark, irresistible sparkle of transgression in his eyes. There was a time when she would have given anything to be this close to him. Caught up in the moment, she asked herself whether there might be a better option than resistance. Was it really worth risking everything to fight for a cause that was already all but lost? Why not just surrender those pseudo-heroic principles and have an easy life? Things didn't have to be as difficult as they were, and normality was being offered at a remarkably easy price by Marcus Flint, of all people – her old school crush, with his black hair and dark, sparkling eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she didn't resist. Suddenly, desire and curiosity were stronger than any suggestions of guilt. However, the surprisingly firm pressure of his lips on hers reminded her with a horrific surge of shame of kisses – gentler, more loving, and infinitely more evocative – from Wood. A match was struck in her mind, casting a harsh and unforgiving light on the thoughts of surrender with which she had momentarily toyed. She saw now with perfect clarity what it was that she had to do.

Flint grinned as he drew back, again igniting that tiny flame of desire within her, but this time she fought to suppress it. "I think you understand me," he said.

"I do, perfectly." She stepped back; doubt flickered in his eyes. "And I must say, Marcus, I'm disappointed. I thought that, working under the auspices of the Ministry, you'd at least pretend to possess a hint of integrity."

The smug grin was instantly replaced by a frown and his cheeks reddened with anger and humiliation. "Stupid bitch," he snarled. "I'm offering you security..."

"Leave now, please. And don't bother to come again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Suddenly, his wand was in his hand. "If you continue to be unobliging, I'll be left with no choice but to..."

He was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Susie's heart simultaneously soared and quailed – if that's even possible. Within seconds, Wood appeared, and froze instantly, his eyes swiftly darkening.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"It's good to see you too, Oliver."

Wood closed the door behind him. "You'd better have a bloody good reason to be here, Flint."

"Or you'll – what?" Flint grinned menacingly. "I'm here on Ministry business, just checking up on Birch's blood status. Did you know she's about to be called in for questioning? Her wand will probably be confiscated soon."

At this, Wood's fingers closed around his own thirteen-and-a-quarter inches. "That's not reason enough. I refuse to recognise the authority of a ministry that knowingly employs Death Eaters."

"Those are very dangerous words."

"Do your worst, Flint. You're on my turf now."

Susie watched him in awe and shame. How could she ever have entertained the prospect of betraying him? She could still taste Flint on her lips, and it revolted her.

"As it happens," Flint said, turning his dark eyes on her, "I'd just offered Susie here a chance to avoid any further attention from my department, but she'd decided to be irritatingly loyal." He glanced back at Wood. "She couldn't resist a quick kiss first, though – could you, Susie?"

She felt sick with shame and guilt. If these revelations hurt Wood, however, he didn't show it.

"Get out," he said simply, his voice remarkably calm and controlled, but simmering slightly dangerously. Flint just laughed.

"Didn't you hear?" Susie asked, buoyed by Wood's self-control. "I might as well let my wand go out with a flourish..."

"You—" Flint didn't finish, but let out a gasp of pain and pressed his right hand to his left forearm. Susie exchanged startled glances with Wood as they realised what was happening.

He looked up at them with a twisted smile – "go on, then, curse me" – then turned on the spot and disapparated.

It was a few moments before the full significance of what had just happened sank in, but once these moments had passed, Susie was instantly caught in Oliver's arms. Her heart throbbing with shame and relief, she fell into him gratefully.

"What he said about..."

Wood tried to silence her. "Susie, not now."

"I'm sorry – I..."

"Please." She met his gaze almost fearfully, but saw at once that nothing had changed for him. He touched her cheek lightly, just as Flint had done. "You know me: I'm just as emotionally incompetent as the next man, so this isn't very easy for me to say, but – but I love you, you know. And I trust you. Whatever you want to say, it can wait till later."

Susie felt like crying. I don't deserve him, she kept telling herself. Giving her a thin smile, he kissed her quickly, lingering for only a moment before drawing hurriedly back.

"I don't know where that bastard has pissed off to, but he'll be back. You need to get to the Burrow. Disapparate now. I'll follow you once I've got some of our stuff together."

She realised then for the first time that he was planning on going into hiding with her. "You mean you're _coming_?" Her voice broke pathetically; the first tears clustered at the corners of her eyes. "But you'll lose everything!"

He stared at her despairingly. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. It was so ridiculous, so pathetic to be crying at a time like this, but she just couldn't hold it back.

Wood took her by the shoulders. "For a clever girl, you can be bloody stupid sometimes. Now do as I say. Go – or am I going to have to carry you all the way there?"

They both jumped as a third person coughed awkwardly behind them and spun round to see Angelina's face in the fire. Susie hastily wiped away her tears.

"I hate to interrupt..."

"What is it, Ange?" Wood knelt by the fire to talk to his former chaser. She looked troubled, but excited: Susie moved closer in interest.

"Lightening has struck at Hogwarts."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading - and for reviewing, to those of you who have. I hope you enjoyed this. (And if you're not a fan of the "six months later, this is how things are now" technique - which, upon re-reading, I don't think I am - you'll be pleased to hear that this chapter was the last instance of it...)


	12. Chapter 12

****A/N: I was inspired to upload this chapter after watching my very first Quidditch match, and meeting a real-life Quidditch captain. I definitely did not fall completely in love with him. Who'd have thought muggle Quidditch could be so much fun? Anyway, I just thought I'd better mention that this chapter contains a lengthy direct quotation from _The Deathly Hallows_. You'll know it when you see it, I hope.

**Chapter 12**

Less than five minutes after Angelina had appeared in Oliver and Susie's fireplace, the Order of the Phoenix and numerous alumni and friends of Dumbledore's Army had gathered in the kitchen at the Burrow. Shacklebolt, Lupin and Arthur Weasley were standing nearest the fire: it seemed to have fallen to them to decide upon a plan of action.

"We'll apparate straight to Aberforth's in Hogsmeade," Kingsley was saying, "two or three at a time to make sure we're not seen. From there, we can use the tunnel into the Room of Requirement."

Arthur continued. "Once we're all assembled, we can find out what Harry's plans are and do all in our power to help him."

"...And to defend the students and staff of Hogwarts as soon as the Dark Lord becomes aware of Harry's presence." Everyone's eyes went to Lupin as he spoke: he looked suddenly stern and masterly.

"Quite right," Molly agreed, and a universal nod ran round the room.

"I'll go first," Kingsley announced, "and do my best to explain all of this to Aberforth. Who's with me?"

Fred and George instantly volunteered, and Susie saw Molly grasp her husband's arm urgently. Watching this silent exchange, she became aware that this was the moment for which they had all been waiting: this was the moment in which they would make their stand, and in which they would fall together, if they had to. She felt sick with fear, but was conscious of another sensation rising within her: a sensation of love and pride. Wood slipped his fingers through hers and she forced back a sob that threatened to choke her.

"Very well," Kingsley said, taking the two Weasleys by the arms. "Wait for two minutes before anyone follows us. Good luck, friends. It is so good to see so many of you here."

His lordly smile travelled once more round the room – and then they were gone. For a few seconds, the departure was greeted with silence as the enormity of the approaching battle settled on all of those present. Then everyone seemed to divide into the groups in which they would apparate. Bill and Fleur were standing very still, looking into each other's eyes; Molly had buried her face in Arthur's shoulder. Susie saw Angelina hugging Lee Jordan. Beside her, Katie Bell's tightly balled fists were shaking, but her features were written into an expression of grim determination. Then she felt a tug at her own hand and glanced up at Wood. There was a dull glimmer of pain in his eyes that tore at something inside her.

"I wish there was something I could do to stop you from coming with me."

"I know." She squeezed his hand affectionately. "But you're rubbish at spells, and someone has to look after you."

He let out a hollow laugh, and suddenly she was laughing too – laughing to hold back the tears that wanted to flood from her eyes once more. Clear and harsh in her mind stood the consciousness that she and Wood were unlikely to come through this together, that they were living the last few precious hours of their lives. She acknowledged this, accepted it as a near-certainty, but she could not and would not believe it. There was still so much to do, so much of life to be lived! She could not begin to comprehend the end of everything she loved.

"Do you remember what I told you?" Wood asked quietly, speaking into her ear.

She nodded wordlessly. Surely she didn't deserve to be loved by him; surely she wasn't worthy of him.

"Never forget it. Never doubt it."

Again, she nodded. "I won't."

"Susan?" They both looked round as Lupin addressed her, still unable to break the teacher's habit of using her full name. "Come with me. I've something to ask you."

He led her out of the kitchen and into the empty living room, where they sat down opposite each other. Wood had followed and leant in the door frame. For a moment, Lupin looked like he was going to send him away, but seemed to think better of it.

"What is it, Remus?" Susie asked.

He regarded her thoughtfully for a few seconds before beginning. "You have shown great courage and loyalty by coming here tonight, to an extent that almost belies the Sorting Hat's decision."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I simply wish to stress that what I am about to say should by no means be taken as a reflection of weakness." He paused. "I've been thinking that your place tonight might not be on the battlefield."

Her heart sank. "Remus, please—"

"Let me finish. Whatever happens tonight, the world will be a very different place in the morning, and it is important that the world knows the truth of what has taken place. If the Order is defeated tonight, the world must know what we died for, so that there will be others to carry on our fight."

She began to understand what he was asking of her. "But must it be me? I can fight!"

"I know you can, believe me. Or did you think I'd forgotten your near perfect final mark in Defence Against the Dark Arts? Susan, do not wish yourself into battle. If things go badly tonight, you will have your chance to fight, but for now there is a war to be waged with the quill as well as the wand, and we have no one better to fight that war for us than you."

"There must be someone else..." Her words of protest died on her lips, but she sought to explain the complex blend of emotions that was brewing within her. "I see what you're asking, but I'm sure I would be more useful with you in the castle. And – and I would be ashamed to stay behind."

"I'm not asking that you stay behind: I'm asking that you come to Hogsmeade and record everything that takes place tonight, that you chronicle our darkest hour. I'm asking that you write the truth. It's a rare thing, and there's nothing dishonourable about it."

She said nothing. There didn't seem to be anything she could say.

"If we are defeated," Lupin continued, "You Know Who's eulogy for Hogwarts will be one of deceit and disillusionment, and we cannot allow that to happen. Please consider your answer carefully."

She glanced at Wood. He looked anxious, and she knew what he would have her do. But could she do it? Could she really stay behind with a quill in her hand while the others went off to defend Harry at Hogwarts? She leant forwards, allowing her head to fall into her hands, knowing that she would be plagued by her conscience whichever choice she made. While she was deliberating, Wood approached her and placed a reassuringly steady hand on her shoulder.

"She'll do it," he said, standing behind her chair, and she glanced up at him in surprise. His steady gaze met hers. "But she could never agree to staying behind, so I'll volunteer her for that."

"Wood..."

He silenced her attempts to cut across him."You know what to do, Suze. Just say it and take a weight off everyone's mind."

His words heartened her, as did the weight of his hand on her shoulder. She met Lupin's keen eyes hesitantly.

"If you truly want me to, I will stay in Hogsmeade, and I will write." There was a pause, during which Lupin's weary features softened gently into a smile. "But I can't promise that I'll stay there all night."

"I can't argue with that."

Wood gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she thought with a surge of fondness for him of the imminent moment of parting, of the hours that she would pass in terrible ignorance while he threw himself bravely, in true Gryffindor style, into danger. She would have to summon all of her courage to endure that.

"You know," Lupin said, rising to his feet, "there was a name for you two in the Hogwarts staffroom. It came from Minerva originally, I believe: the Quaffle and the Quill." Smiling, he glanced at Wood. "Unfortunately, you can't go to war with a quaffle."

Wood looked thoughtful. "No, but you can go to war on a broom."

* * *

><p>"<em>You have fought valiantly<em>." For a moment, Susie froze: the thin, high-pitched voice seemed chillingly close to her ear. Within seconds, however, the journalist's instinct kicked in, she loaded her quill with ink and began to scribble furiously with the air of a keen student taking diction.

"Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forced to retreat, immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me. One hour."

Susie's quill was stilled as the voice fell silent with a crushing sense of finality. Sighing deeply, she leaned an elbow on the bar and rested her forehead on the heel of her hand. She was almost too tired to be frightened any more. It had just gone three in the morning, and she seemed to have passed beyond fear or fatigue into a nether-world in which only one thing mattered: for the sake of herself and those around her, she must retain control.

On the other side of the bar, Rosmerta downed the dregs of a glass of firewhiskey and steadied herself against the counter. "Such a horrible voice," she muttered, "so horrible..."

"Rosmerta." She met Susie's urgent but tired gaze and nodded in reluctant understanding: they had to remain strong. The Three Broomsticks had become a haven for the Hogwarts students too young to fight, but who had not yet been collected by parents. They had begun to issue from Aberforth's basement not long after Susie had started writing. Some of the older ones had recognised her as a former prefect and, along with the not terribly helpful Potions master who had introduced himself as Horace Slughorn, she had shepherded them to the brightness and warmth of the Three Broomsticks.

While Rosmerta had made gallons of butterbeer-laced hot chocolate, they had placed their strongest magical defences around the building – not that it was necessary: any Dementors or Death Eaters had long since headed towards Hogwarts. In between comforting the youngest students and trying unsuccessfully to coax them to sleep, Susie had gleaned occasional news of what had actually taken place inside the school, and had tried to add it to her already lengthy account of the Order and of You Know Who's attack – until she had been distracted by the sound of his voice.

She cast her gaze around the remaining assortment of students, the muggle-borns, largely, whose parents had not yet heard of what was taking place, and who had no means of taking them home anyway. There were perhaps forty of them remaining, ranging from first years to sixth years, they looked tired and scared, and their eyes were all on her. She glanced at Slughorn: his eyes betrayed a mixture of fear, confusion and shame. With a sigh, she climbed down from her barstool and went to join the students.

"D'you think it's true?" a Ravenclaw fourth year asked. "D'you think that... that there really have been heavy losses?"

She hesitated before answering: all night they had heard the sounds of battle from the castle, and there was nothing to be gained by telling a cosy lie.

"It's possible," she answered. Their faces darkened all the more, and she wished she hadn't had to admit it. There was an image lingering behind her eyes of Wood crumpled at the foot of a scorched and battered marble staircase, his features frozen by a Death Eater's killing curse. She sought to banish it, mustering all of her strength to push it out of her mind. There would come a time, she knew, when all of her fears would overwhelm her, but she would hold them at bay for a little while longer yet.

"To be honest, I don't know," she confessed to the students, her voice thick and pained. "I hope with all of my heart that it isn't true, but there's no use in pretending that terrible things haven't happened tonight." From somewhere, she heard a stifled sob and leaned in seriously. "But remember, all of the people who stayed in the castle to fight chose to do so. They knew the danger, and they were willing to give everything to defend Hogwarts and all that it represents. That's a very brave and noble thing, isn't it?" She looked round: a few of her listeners nodded. "So try not to lose heart, to be frightened or sad, but be proud of them, and follow their example of... of bravery – and of sticking together, no matter what."

"Hear, hear!" Slughorn called, raising his own glass of firewhiskey. Susie met his eyes and perceived at once his deep, deep shame. Her words had temporarily silenced the students, but they had only fuelled her own yearning to join those defending the castle. She had done as Lupin had asked: now, surely, she was free to go up to the school, free to find Wood...

Her train of thought was interrupted by a sudden hammering at the door; her hand instinctively flew to her wand.

"Rosmerta! Open up!"

She frowned – the voice from outside was achingly familiar. It carried her back years to early Quidditch matches, and to a red-haired seeker of a Gryffindor captain long before she had even known of Wood's existence. The landlady recognised the voice too and darted towards the door.

"Wait!" Slughorn called, but she was already unbolting it. Susie raised her wand uncertainly, though as the door flew open her frown melted into a grateful smile.

There on the threshold, looking as cool as ever, stood Charlie Weasley.

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, perhaps this was a bit of a mean cliff-hanger. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. In the mean time, thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you could find it within you to leave me a review!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

For a few seconds, Charlie just stood there.

Almost at once, Rosmerta threw her arms around his neck. "Charlie, dear boy – it's been far too long since I've seen you!"

He smiled faintly. "I know, but there'll be time to catch up later. Now, we have to act quickly."

Freeing himself from the landlady's grip, he advanced into the room and cast his eyes over Susie, Slughorn and the students. Behind him came a large crowd of people: Hogsmeade shopkeepers and inhabitants, magical parents whose children were still up at the school, and assorted others, among them –

"Bella!" Susie flung herself into her friend's arms. "You're here!"

"Of course I am! Charlie got word to me. Where are Wood and the others?"

"Up at the castle, already fighting. I haven't heard anything from them for hours." Charlie came towards them, listening in interest. "I'd be there too, only Lupin asked me to stay and record everything that happened tonight – but I didn't say that I wouldn't follow them eventually."

Charlie nodded. "Susie, isn't it?"

"Susie Birch."

"Charlie Weasley." She knew this already, but shook his proffered hand. "We're going to fight. There are a few hundred of us, as well as all of the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest, who came forward just now. They've confirmed that You Know Who and his Death Eaters are gathered deep in the forest, but once the hour is up, Hogwarts will need reinforcements."

"Have there been many lost?" Susie asked urgently.

Charlie's eyes darkened. "Too many, according to the centaurs." She didn't move, didn't allow this news to hurt her as much as it threatened to. "But that stops now. No more innocent people will die tonight. We'll march to the front gates, storm the castle, take the Death Eaters by surprise. Are you with us?"

She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak.

"I am with you!" They all turned to Slughorn as he called out suddenly. He looked ridiculous, standing there in his emerald-green pyjamas, but no one was laughing. "For too long now have dark wizards claimed the noble house of Slytherin. I claim it back for the forces of good!"

There were a few scattered cheers from the students. Susie smiled slightly, feeling something warm stirring in her heart.

"You'll stay with the kids, Rosmerta?" Charlie asked.

"I will. Those Death Eaters are in for a shock if they think they can get past me in a hurry."

"Excellent," said Charlie, smiling. There was a moment's pause, during which Susie's heart throbbed with pride and excitement. It all felt like a scene from one of those muggle films they always watched at her mother's house at Christmas. By this point, she was usually nestling into the crook of Wood's arm, tightly hugging a cushion while the soundtrack swelled movingly and the hero made his speech.

For a moment, she met Charlie's gleaming eyes. "Let's go, then," he said quietly.

"Wait!" She hurried to the bar and, quickly performing shrinking charms, crammed her ink, a quill and all of her parchment into her pockets. Then she followed Charlie, Bella and Slughorn out onto the street, and even as Harry passed slowly beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, they marched towards Hogwarts.

More and more people joined the column as they followed the path towards the school. Hogsmeade emptied, drawn out by Charlie's rousing shouts. Unseen, thestrals circled in the sky above them and from somewhere nearby a hippogriff's call echoed. The world seemed to bristle with anticipation: dawn was not far off now.

Suddenly, Bella reached for Susie's hand and clasped it tightly.

"Susie, you know how much you mean to me, don't you?"

Her friend's tone was sombre, but Susie tried to smile. "Bella, really..."

"I mean it. We don't know what's going to happen, or how long each of us has left, so we can't leave things unsaid."

"Nothing is unsaid."

"Just let me speak." Finally, she obeyed. "You've been my greatest friend ever since the Sorting Hat put us together. Really, I don't know what I would have done without you – even though we're a bit of an odd pair, and the teachers all liked you more than me, and even though I was more than a little bit jealous when you and Wood got together."

Susie couldn't help but laugh, and didn't notice Charlie watching them with a sad smile. Their moment of nostalgia was cut short, however, by a sudden burst of red and green sparks in the sky not far away. Menacing shouts were carried towards them on the wind.

"Hurry!" Charlie shouted, anxiously picking up the pace. They were running now, running as the darkness of the eastern sky softened to blue, running as Hagrid carried Harry's motionless body at the head of Voldemort's triumphal procession.

They rounded a bend in the path and Hogwarts came into sight, ruined and burning beyond its crumpled wrought-iron gates. Tears prickled in Susie's eyes; a cry of pain and fury burst from her lips. Voldemort had surely never committed a greater crime than this. Four Death Eaters stood guard at the gates, but were blasted off their feet by stunning spells before they even knew what was happening.

And now they were picking up speed, passing through the gates with a roar as dawn broke, tearing up the lawns towards the castle, wands raised to do battle with any Death Eaters who tried to stand in their way. The grounds were littered with rubble and with dark bundles that looked horribly like bodies, but there was no time to take it in. Spells were fired into the crowd. Susie ducked as one whistled past her ear. Her wand grew hot in her hand with the intensity of the stunning spells that she cast. Suddenly, Bella's hand slipped loosely out of hers. She looked back: her friend had fallen face-down to the ground.

"Bella, no—" She rolled her over and those familiar eyes looked straight past her, cold and dead. "Oh God – Bella..." A sob shook through her, but no tears came. She felt numb. Once again, that debilitating wave of grief, fear and despair threatened to overwhelm her. Bella couldn't be dead: she just couldn't be.

"Bella, Bella..." Repeating her friend's name and clinging desperately to her body, she looked up. Charlie had glanced back at them and been stopped momentarily in his tracks by what he saw, but steeled himself grimly.

"Come on!" he shouted and pressed on, and Susie knew that she had to follow him. She pressed a kiss to her friend's still warm forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Bella – I'll come back, I promise." Still, it didn't seem real. Her heart throbbing dully with painful disbelief, she laid Bella gently down and forced herself to her feet. Her limbs were heavy with fatigue, but she pushed them into a run once again.

Charlie and Slughorn had already disappeared into the Entrance Hall. She made to follow them; a Death Eater blocked her path.

"Expelliarmus!" The force of her spell knocked him off his feet. She leapt up the last few steps and was inside now. Nearby, a couple of Hufflepuff seventh years were trying to hold off a Death Eater and she added her wand to theirs. He was stronger than the others she had duelled and deflected her stunning spell with ease. She ducked to avoid his reply, then pushed one of her Hufflepuff companions out of the way of another curse, but was suddenly hit by a blow of such intense agony that she couldn't breathe. It lasted only a moment. Cruciatus curse, she realised with the accuracy of a top grade student. Her body folded: it wanted to crumple, but she saw a chance. The Death Eater raised his wand; her stunning spell shot under his outstretched arm and hit him in the opposite shoulder. He fell heavily to the ground.

Stop, her brain was telling her: stop, stop.

"_Flint_!" Joy and sheer terror collided suffocatingly within her. She looked up. There was Wood – _alive_ – halfway up the first flight of the marble staircase, duelling, of all people, Marcus Flint. Without thinking, she hurtled across the floor towards the foot of the stairs, desperately dodging spells and leaping over piles of rubble.

"You bastard, Flint!" Wood's voice seemed to rise above all others.

Flint laughed tauntingly, perhaps ten steps higher than Wood was and climbing all the time. "She's dead!" he yelled. "She's dead – and I killed her!" He shot a curse at Wood, but his old adversary dived out of the way with all the speed and agility of a keeper.

"Stand still for one second, and I swear I will fucking kill you."

His return curse missed Flint narrowly and cracked the marble banister behind him. With a sickening sense of horror, Susie realised that both were shooting to kill. "Wood, no—" She forced her aching legs up the stairs.

"Do your worst, Wood!" Flint called, shooting another curse at him that Wood deflected with a cry of fury. He raised his wand again.

"Stop, please!"

There was a moment of hesitation as they finally heard her shouts. Wood froze, wand arm raised, and Susie's spell hit Flint squarely in the chest before he had time to react. He fell backwards and hit the floor with a dull thud, stunned.

Wood let out a yell of anguish. "No! He's mine, he's fucking _mine_! I'm going to kill him—"

"Stop!" She grabbed his wand arm in an attempt to pull him away, but he was too strong for her. "Wood, no – please..."

"He killed Katie!" he told her, finally turning to face her. "She's dead – and he laughed as she hit the ground."

He might have punched her hard in the stomach, such was the force of this revelation, delivered in a voice bristling with fury and hatred. Again, numbness. She put a hand to her mouth as another tearless sob shuddered through her.

"Katie too?" Her voice sounded strangely thin.

"She's dead," Wood repeated, his eyes flashing with hunger for revenge, and with the still burning potency of grief.

"But he mustn't die," she said, a new strength entering her voice. "Let him rot in Azkaban for all I care, but too many good people have died today. He doesn't deserve to join them."

Wood looked at her for a moment. "Suze..."

"I know."

His eyes closed. Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned back against the banister for support. But even as she watched him, an unsettlingly heavy quiet fell. People were crowding into the Great Hall.

"Come on," she muttered, realising that they must follow. She took one of Wood's dusty, bloodied hands in her own. It was reassuringly heavy, and, drawing strength from it, she led him down the steps and across the hall. He followed her as quietly and obediently as a child. The doorway of the Great Hall was crowded, but she balanced on an upturned bench to get a better look. Wood stood in front of her, leaning back into her with a heaviness that was wonderful.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes closed again.

"It's Harry," she answered, looking out over the remarkable scene before her. "It's Harry and You Know Who."

She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but that hardly mattered. She had passed into a world of dreamy indifference, only vaguely aware that something truly momentous was unfolding before her. Harry would kill Voldemort or Voldemort would kill Harry: it had to be one or the other now. If the former, good; if the latter, she and Wood would stand and fight to the end. They would fight until they could fight no longer. And when the end finally came, they would face it together. Frozen in death, their bodies would lie side-by-side in the ruins of Hogwarts – together.

* * *

><p>AN: Well. How can I follow that? In short, thank you for reading, thank you especially for reviewing, please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and the next installment, the final installment, will be appearing soon.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Before I begin, I'd like to say a few words, if I may. As you are probably aware, this is the final chapter of _The Quaffle and the Quill_, and my sincere thanks go out to all of you who have read and commented on this story. Now more than ever, I would love to know what you thought of it. Satisfied? Overwhelmed? Indifferent? Do let me know. On the off-chance that you'd like to read more by me, I'm already working on another HP fic involving, in a small way, some of this story's central characters. If you're interested, add me to your author alert list and it should be appearing before too long. (That sounded like a shameless plug. Apologies.) But that's enough from me. Once again, thank you.

**Chapter 14**

_May 1998, _Daily Prophet_ Offices, London_

Barnabas Cuffe, editor-in-chief of the _Daily Prophet_, had been awake all night, fuelled by coffee and anxiety. The remarkably pure, bright sunlight of that early morning found him pacing back and forth in his mahogany-panelled office. For the first time in living memory, he was starting a working day groggy and unshaven; his characteristic silk waistcoat and bow-tie were unfastened.

The fire flared up suddenly behind him. He cast a casual glance towards it – and jumped as he saw the face of Susan Birch looking back at him out of the flames. Even by floo, she looked solemn and tired, but she was one of the people he had most wanted to see.

"Susan! At last! I've been trying to reach you all night!" She did not share his urgency, and waited impassively for him to continue. "First there was all that business at Gringotts yesterday, and then there was a shifty-looking Ministry official hanging around the office asking awkward questions about you, and then suddenly we start hearing rumours of terrible things at Hogwarts... Where even are you?"

"Currently, I'm at Hogwarts, in the office of Professor Minerva McGonagall, who has kindly granted me the use of her fireplace."

Her editor stared; his mouth opened and closed a few times, apparently of its own accord.

"There has been a great battle tonight," she continued, her voice perfectly measured and calm. "A great many innocent lives have been lost. However, Voldemort has been defeated."

"_Defeated_? Susan..."

"By 'defeated', I do, of course, mean that he is dead. Now, as we speak, an owl is heading towards you bearing a document that, I think, accounts for all that has taken place tonight. This piece must be on the front page of the evening edition, completely unchanged. There should be no objections, but I would point out that it was written at the request of the late Remus Lupin, formerly Professor Lupin, teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, a great man and one of the many to have lost his life in defence of the school."

Cuffe nodded speechlessly.

"Oh, and Barnabas?" He nodded again. "Get some sleep. You look terrible."

With that, she was gone. From that day forward, the _Daily Prophet_ would never be the same again.

* * *

><p>Wood woke up with a start and wondered for a moment where he was.<p>

"What time is it?" he asked automatically.

"Oh, sorry to wake you, Wood. You'd just dozed off." He recognised the warmly familiar voice of Madame Hooch. "It's just gone seven in the morning and no one's had any sleep... I don't blame you."

Sitting up, he took in his surroundings in mild confusion: the house tables had been laid out amidst the ruin of the Great Hall as if for an ordinary breakfast. It was an odd but heart-warming sight.

"Tea?" He blinked groggily at Madame Hooch for a few seconds, still not fully awake. She filled a cup for him without waiting for an answer and, taking it from her gratefully, he took a tentative sip – then froze.

Very much awake now, he met her eyes. "Tea?" Behind the warm, familiar taste of the tea, he recognised at once the rich heat of firewhiskey.

"Our little secret," she said with a wink. "I thought everyone could do with a little something extra."

He returned her smile. "Thanks."

"Oh, and that was excellent flying last night, Wood," she added. "But then you always were a natural flyer. I remember giving you your very first flying lesson..." Smiling vaguely, she moved on, taking her large and deceptively innocent looking teapot with her.

He was sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table, and was one of the few to have stuck to his own house. A little further up, at the Hufflepuff table, the Weasleys were all sitting together, with Angelina, Alicia and Lee just beyond them. A dull, numb sort of feeling settled on his shoulders as he remembered those who were conspicuously absent. The reality of their deaths had yet to completely sink in, and he half expected to hear Fred and George laughing together, or to see Katie flashing him her bright, mildly flirtatious smile. But there was someone else missing too.

"I'm not really sure where she went," said a voice to his right. He glanced round to see Michael sitting on the opposite side of the table. "She said something about the Owlery."

"The Owlery?" Frowning vaguely, he delved into his memories, though they were frustratingly sleepy and blurred. He could just about recall kissing her in those golden moments of victory, and then he'd gone out to help gather the dead...

"I suppose she was sending off whatever she was writing all morning." Another familiar voice: he instantly recognised the broad Northern vowels of Sean Carey as the man himself took a seat on the bench beside him, clutching a cup of Madame Hooch's extraordinary tea.

"Where did you come from?"

"I got here as fast as I could. I missed all the fighting, but I thought I might as well help with the clean up, now I'm here."

Of course: Susie had been writing. Her quill and ink bottle, borrowed from the Burrow last night, still lay on the table where she had left them.

"You'd just fallen asleep when I got here. We would have woken you, only you looked so sweet..."

He exchanged somewhat tired grins with Sean. "It's good to see you, mate."

"And you." He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "And let's not leave it till there's another bloody great battle before meeting up again, right?"

Wood nodded, but hadn't the energy or the will to keep up a conversation. It all seemed so strange at the moment, and he was reluctant to go beyond the superficial level of things for fear that their deeper significance would overwhelm him. And he was tired. He felt sleep washing over him again, but this time fought it off with a swig of the whiskey-tea. More than anything, he wanted Susie: he wanted to bury his face in her hair and fall asleep against the warmth of her body. Her constancy was the foundation on which he had built his whole existence, and only once that was restored would he at last be able to start making sense of all that had happened.

"There she is," Michael announced. Wood opened his eyes – he hadn't noticed them closing – and turned to see her. His first thought was that she looked almost painfully beautiful, in spite of the dark shadows under her red eyes – had she been crying? – the dusty, crumpled clothes, and the awkward wisps of hair escaping from the loose bun into which she'd drawn them back. She was just the same as ever, and met his eyes with a warm smile that instantly set his mind at rest. He did not know – and nor would she want him to – of the tears that she had shed alone in the Owlery when the fear and grief of the night had finally overwhelmed her.

"I see Sleeping Beauty has awakened," she observed, leaning slightly on his shoulder as she climbed into the seat beside him.

He grinned, trying not to be too distracted by the brief physical contact. "Sleeping beauty?"

"I was being ironic, quaffle-brain. It's a muggle story about a princess in an enchanted sleep who can only be woken by the kiss of a handsome prince..."

"So which of us is the prince?" Sean asked.

"I'll leave that to your imagination," she decided, the corners of her lips curving upwards suggestively. Noticing Wood's innocent-looking mug of tea, she took it unsuspectingly out of his hands and took a sip. She met his eyes and swallowed slowly. "Is that whiskey?"

He smiled sleepily at her. "It's Madame Hooch's special blend," he revealed. For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other, and as her weary smile widened he felt that familiar ache growing within him: he wanted to be close to her. She seemed to feel it too and shuffled a little closer.

"It's her special single malt tea," he went on, feeling more content by the second, "carefully distilled from a mixture of hops and water and matured for twelve years in a shed somewhere in the Highlands..."

"Only a Scotsman would know so much about whiskey," Sean commented.

"And only a Yorkshireman would knowingly drink it for breakfast," Michael put in, his refined enunciation as smooth as glass.

Suddenly Susie was giggling. Wood watched her fondly, revelling in the movement of her body as it shook with laughter. And now he was laughing too, and so were Sean and Michael; and as it slowly faded, he felt that a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Susie began, with light laughter still ringing in her voice. "I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

She said no more, but the tone in which she voiced the final few words, gently lowering, spoke of feelings common to all of them: mirth, but stifling guilt; overwhelming relief, but a pain of loss that was still sharp. Only time would heal the wounds opened by months of secret fear.

It was in the midst of this thoughtful silence that Professor McGonagall, who had already returned to her usual prim self, approached.

"For those to whom it may be of interest," she began, "the house elves have been busy returning the dormitories to a habitable state. There are beds available if you would like them."

Images floated in Wood's mind of red velvet hangings on a four-poster, of soft feather pillows, and of a narrow window with a view of the Quidditch pitch. "Thanks, Professor," he said thickly, stifling a yawn.

"Did Ravenclaw Tower make it through the battle unscathed?" Susie inquired, automatically adopting the tone of a keen schoolgirl.

"But for one or two of its windows, I believe so." Flashing them a smile, McGonagall moved on.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and Wood allowed his memory to run fondly over that cosy, circular room with the cast-iron stove in the centre and Sean and Percy snoring contentedly in the beds on either side of his. He'd never realised just how much he missed Hogwarts. And then a new image drifted into his mind: the image of Susie asleep in the midst of those scarlet hangings. The prospect of sharing Gryffindor tower with her brought a small, contented smile to his face.

"Suze..." His voice was almost hoarse with longing.

She touched his arm gently. "I know."

He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to burrow deep under a duvet with her and never come out.

"Off to bed, then?" Sean was smirking like a schoolboy.

"Yes, actually," Susie answered before Wood could even think of replying. "I think we've earned it." She flashed both of their companions a brief smile, then rose from the table and headed for the Entrance Hall. He watched her go for a moment, simply observing that slow, familiar walk of hers...

"Coming?" She cast a glance back at him over her shoulder.

"I think that's your cue," Michael muttered.

"I'll see you two later, yeah?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, he swung his legs over the bench, feeling that familiar flying-ache in his thighs, and followed Susie away. Neither spoke: both seemed to have disregarded thoughts of anything but sleep.

Susie hesitated at the foot of the marble staircase, however, her eyes lingering on one of the many doorways that led off the Entrance Hall: the chamber in which the 54 dead had been laid out.

"I don't feel anything," she said simply. Her eyes met his hesitantly, perhaps with a hint of shame. "As terrible as it sounds, I don't think I can mourn just yet. I can't really describe the feeling." She paused; her gaze flickered back towards the doorway. "It's strange."

Wood observed her thoughtfully for a moment, noting the hint of a frown lingering on her brow. She had the air of a student who had come across one of those rare questions to which she didn't know the answer. Of course, he understood her perfectly, though he too would have struggled to put the feeling of mingled guilt, relief, elation and exhaustion adequately into words.

"It is strange," he agreed at length.

"I thought I'd miss them more," she confessed.

"That'll come," he guessed, slipping his hand through hers. "It's bound to come – but not yet. Let the dust settle first."

With a vague nod, she allowed herself to be led up the marble staircase and past the site of his duel with Flint, but resisted when he tried to steer her towards Gryffindor Tower. Meeting her eyes, he saw that she too was longing for her old dormitory. Now it was his turn to be led by the hand: she took him through a succession of sunny corridors he'd never seen before, then up a dizzyingly narrow spiral staircase, finally stopping at a wooden door adorned only by an eagle-shaped knocker. Smiling fondly, Susie knocked once. Wood watched in fascination as the eagle opened its beak.

"Welcome home," it said to Susie in a surprisingly silvery tone. "Wonderful news, isn't it?"

Her smile widened rapidly. "Truly wonderful," she agreed.

The eagle let out a sort of happy sigh that reminded Wood of the Fat Lady at her most tipsy. "Sleep well," it said cheerfully, beginning to open, but Susie actually pushed it shut again.

"Aren't you going to ask me a question?" she asked. Wood was utterly bewildered.

"Well, if you insist..." It seemed to think to itself for a moment. "Ah! Here's a very appropriate one. Which is the greatest of the four Hogwarts houses?"

She looked almost disappointed. "Well, it's quite clear that no one house is greater than the others, just as none is weaker. If last night's events have taught us anything, it is surely that Hogwarts' strength lies in its diversity."

"But of course." This time, she did not object to the door opening.

"What just happened?" Wood asked. He had never imagined that the common rooms of other houses would be quite so different. In his eyes, the Gryffindor model had always worked perfectly.

"He usually asks such good questions," Susie said distantly. "You really have to think about them sometimes..."

"Wait – so you don't just have a password?"

She looked at him strangely. "Of course not. Do you?"

But before he could answer, she had led him into the astoundingly beautiful Ravenclaw common room. Brightly lit by the early morning sunlight, it gleamed in radiant blue and bronze, and the windows – some shattered, but most intact – drew out the eye to the forest and the lake, and to the mountains beyond.

"It's good to be back," Susie mused, appearing instantly content.

The room was all but deserted, occupied only by a few seventh years dozing in armchairs by the fire. Automatically, Susie waved her wand, and a pool of spilt hot chocolate by one of their seats leapt back into its mug. Next, she turned her wand to the broken windows, carefully mending cracks and guiding loose shards back into their frames. Wood was happy simply to observe, and blinked sleepily while she went about her work. Thankfully, it was not long before she returned to him and guided him up the slender spiral staircase to her old dormitory.

This, like his, was round, with five four-poster beds stationed around the walls. But while Gryffindors slept amidst heavy scarlet velvet, slumbering Ravenclaws lay in bowers of delicate blue silk. Wood couldn't help noticing that everything seemed very – well, feminine.

Susie approached the bed opposite the door and trailed her fingers delicately through the hangings. "This was mine," she said quietly. While he watched, she elegantly kicked off her shoes, climbed up, and lay down on top of the covers. It was a gorgeous sight. "Are you coming?" Already, yawns were stealing into her voice.

"I thought you'd never ask." Pausing only to discard his jacket and shoes, he climbed up beside her, sank into the irresistible pillows and instantly felt a warm wave of sleep wash over him. Susie nestled adorably into the curve of his body: they seemed to fit together perfectly.

"At last," he couldn't help murmuring.

"Hmm..." Her breathing was already slowing as sleep claimed her weary limbs.

As he lay there, with his cheek against that familiar Hogwarts linen and his arm draped across Susie's waist, a new idea suddenly strolled into his mind.

"Suze? When all of this over, we should get married..."

There was no response: Susie was already asleep. Moments later, with a fond smile still lingering on his lips, Wood joined her. There, in the perfect tranquillity of Ravenclaw Tower, with sunlight falling softly across their bed, Oliver and Susie slept undisturbed. All was well.

THE END


End file.
